The Twin Nerevarines
by Nakraf
Summary: The same old Morrowind story, with a new twist! (as if the title wasn't a dead giveaway)
1. Meet Varansaur

Hey there, everypeoples!  I'm Nakraf.  You may recognize me from my Kim Possible fanfics "Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow" and "Project IAGO" (or maybe not.)  I also like playing Morrowind.  So, here goes!

I do not own any of the races or creatures from Morrowind.  I do own Varansaur, Ej-Friekhas, Criona, Imesh-Ma, and Oreotragus.

Chapter 1

            Varansaur looked down at a saltrice plant growing beside him.  It was a way to avoid looking at the 20-foot cliff he was standing on, leading straight down into the deepest lake in Black Marsh.  _You know, he thought to himself, __I don't have to be doing this.  Right now, I could go home and have a nice cup of hot marshmerrow tea._

            "Are you going to do it or not?"

            The voice of Varansaur's best friend, Ej-Friekhas, seemed to jerk him out of his trance.

            "Remind me again why we're doing this?"

            "Because Gil-Shtek said it was cool."

            Varansaur looked at his friend with a mixture of incredulousness and sympathy.  Gil-Shtek was the unofficial authority on what was cool.  He was also, in Varansaur's opinion, the biggest pain in the ass in Black Marsh.  This was helped mainly by the fact that Gil-Shtek had kicked him in the tail at his Naming Ceremony.

            "And, since when do we listen to Gil-Shtek?"

            "Since Criona started agreeing with him."

            Varansaur's stomach clenched.  Every male Argonian in Varansaur's age group seemed to have his eye on Gil-Shtek's sister, Criona.  She was the one matter in which Varansaur and Ej-Friekhas were not allies.

            "All right," said Varansaur, reluctantly.  "You go first."

            Ej-Friekhas took a deep breath, let it out, then ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped off.  Varansaur grabbed the saltrice plant in a desperate effort to remain calm.  A minute later, Ej-Friekhas surfaced, wide-eyed but obviously uninjured.

            "Woo hoo!  I never thought I'd say this, but Gil-Shtek was right!  You've gotta try this!"

            Varansaur let go of the saltrice plant, which dropped to the ground with a wet thud, as he had pulled it out by the roots in his anxiety.  He then jumped off the cliff as Ej-Friekhas had done.

            He entered the water rather smoothly, considering how freaked-out he had been.  As soon as he had been slowed down enough by the water, he turned around and made for the surface.  But before he could get there, he felt something heavy and sharp close around his leg.  He looked behind him to see the massive claw of a dreugh clinging to his ankle.  He reached down to pry it off, but the dreugh simply reached up and wrapped its tentacles around the unsuspecting Argonian.  Then, it removed its claw from Varansaur's ankle (and good thing too, as it was starting to cut in very deep) and brought it up to Varansaur's throat, snapping it menacingly.  In desperation, Varansaur pulled back his free arm and landed a single well-aimed punch squarely between the dreugh's eyes.  Normally, this would be enough to knock someone unconscious, but most of the impact was absorbed by the scummy water.  The dreugh held its massive claw up towards the surface and brought it down on Varansaur's head…

Yes, I know it was short.  But I didn't originally write this for fanfiction.net, so…

Oh yeah, please review.


	2. The Duke's Proposal

To Starlight the Wanderer: What did you expect?  These are Argonians we're dealing with here.  And I now accept anonymous reviews.

This chapter may seem a little confusing.  But don't worry, the chapters are all related.  By chapter three, it should all start to make sense.

I also own Adaves (well, sorta.  I own the character, but not the name.)

Chapter 2

            "There's someone here to see you, sir."

            Emperor Uriel Septim sat up from his half-sleep.  "Huh?  What?

"I said there's someone here to see you, sir."

"Oh, is there?  Wh-who is it?"

            "Uh, he says he's Vedam Dren, duke of Morrowind."

            "Ah, yes.  I've been expecting him.  Send him in."

            The Emperor's messenger scuffled out of the hall, bowing as he left.  A few moments later, Duke Vedam Dren entered.  He was dressed in a full set of ebony armor, and had a shockbite mace drawn, as though he was expecting an attack.

            "Your honor," Dren said, bowing as he saw the Emperor.

            "All right, Dren.  What's this urgent matter you've wanted to discuss with me?"

            Dren pulled out a series of large, complicated charts.  "As you know, the central parts of Morrowind have been experiencing very nasty weather as a result of the activity going on at Red Mountain.  Already, three guards in Ald-ruhn have come down with very violent coughs and were bedridden for two weeks from being out in this mess."

            The Emperor looked at a diagram of the throat culture of one of the guards.  It was a very unappetizing shade of bluish-grey and had traces of what appeared to be red powder in it.

            "Eww!  Why are you bringing this to my attention?"

            "Well, your honor, I have discovered that all the guards who didn't contract this horrible disease had one thing in common.  None of them were wearing the same helmets as the others."

            "What do you mean?"  
            "Well, all of the other guards had their helmets treated with kagouti oil, which as you know contains a night-vision agent.  But these three had forgotten to do so."

            "Ah!  I see now!  So, you're proposing a vaccination plan for the citizens of infected areas!"

            "Not exactly.  That's the second part of my plan.  The native Morrowind kagouti are just too aggressive to get enough oil to administer to everyone.  But I have evidence to show that there's another species of kagouti living in Black Marsh.  This one is a bit less hostile, and its skin produces copious amounts of the oil."

            "Okay, now I think I get it.  You're proposing an expedition to Black Marsh to harvest kagouti oil?"  
            "Ehhh…almost. The problem is, this oil can only be extracted from the skin of a living animal, and there are only a hundred of these kagouti left in the entire province."

            "So, what you're proposing is…what you're proposing is…help me here…"

            "I'm proposing we make that section of Black Marsh into an Imperial nature preserve, so that every now and then, a team of trained professionals can harvest the oil without running the risk of the kagouti going extinct."

            "I think that's a great idea!"

            "Great.  There's just one problem."

            "What's that?"

            "The Argonians hunt these kagouti for food.  The problem is that we need to explain to them that they need to stop doing this for our plan to succeed.  Very few of them speak Tamrielic, even fewer of us speak Hist, and Black Marsh is rampant with diseases that could make our flesh melt off our bones."

            "Well then, I suggest you take large amounts of Resist Disease potions with you, as well as some Cure Poisons."

            "So, am I to take that as your permission?"

            "I beg your pardon?"

            Dren riffled through the papers on the floor, until he found what appeared to be a contract.  "We can't make the Black Marsh kagouti a protected species unless you, the Emperor, sign this."

            "Oh.  All right.  Let me just…here we are." The Emperor said, extracting a long red quill pen from his pocket.  He signed Dren's contract and stamped it with his official seal.  However, as Dren turned to leave, the Emperor suddenly felt a surging feeling in his lungs. "Dren!" he shouted.

            "Yes, sir?"

            "Quickly!  There's a bottle on the chest next to my bed!  Fetch it for me!"

            Dren picked up a small, orange bottle and handed it to the Emperor, who looked as though his chest was about to explode.  The Emperor grabbed the bottle and began to chug the contents.  The swelling in his chest immediately went down.

            "Are you all right, my lord?"

            The Emperor set the bottle down.  "Yes.  I am now.  But, as you leave, could you tell Adaves that I need more Meteor slime?"


	3. Battle of the Drens

To anomalous reviewer: About time I got some actual criticism.  Between my two Kim Possible fanfics and this one, I have received a total of 24 reviews before yours, and all they ever said was "great job" and stuff like that.  I need to fine-tune my writing, and it helps to have people point out where I can improve.

And for those of you who agree with the anomalous reviewer that launching into a series of conflicts right away is not the best method, Varansaur's one-on-one with the dreugh is the only actual fight for a while.  In this chapter, and chapter six, you will be familiarized with the villains in this story.

If I told you I owned certain characters, I lied.  But, I didn't.

Chapter 3

            Varansaur awoke to find his old spinster aunt, Imesh-Ma, applying a pack of carefully wrapped frost salts to his ankle.  Imesh-Ma was the closest thing to a parent Varansaur had ever known.  She said she was his father's sister, but never said anything else about his parents.  This was mainly due to the fact that he never asked.

            "Oh good.  You're awake."

            Varansaur put a hand to his throbbing forehead.  "What happened?"

            "The dreugh knocked you out.  You're lucky Ej-Friekhas was there to pull it off you.  What were you thinking, jumping off a cliff into Merkaf Lake?"

            "Well…wait, that was Merkaf Lake?  I thought it was thirty miles north of there!"

            "Thirty miles north of there is Morrowind!"

            Varansaur looked around the room.  In one corner, Ej-Friekhas was seated in a chair, making an effort not to look away from his toes.  In another corner, Varansaur saw...he jerked so hard that he nearly knocked Imesh-Ma to the floor…Criona!

            "Honestly!" Criona said to herself.  "Merkaf Lake!  I could kill Gil-Shtek!"

            "What are you doing here?" Varansaur asked through his half-consciousness.

            "When the dreugh knocked you out, your involuntary breathing reflex kicked in." Imesh Ma said.  "Unfortunately, you were underwater.  You would've drowned if Criona hadn't happened by and resuscitated you."

            Suddenly, Varansaur thought he understood why Ej-Friekhas wasn't looking at him.  The sight of Criona giving Varansaur mouth-to-mouth must've made Ej-Friekhas feel more than a little bitter.

            Just then, there was a loud voice from outside.  It was a gruff voice, definitely not an Argonian's, and it wasn't in any language spoken in Black Marsh.  And yet, Varansaur understood what they were saying.  When he was a child, he had met an elderly Altmer wizard named Nilrem wandering around in the forest.  Nilrem had taken Varansaur on as a student and taught him Tamrielic, the language of the Empire.  It was this language that was ringing through the stagnant air.

            "Hello?  Anybody here?"

            Varansaur made to get up, but Imesh-Ma forced him back into the chair.

            "Oh, no you don't!  Not with that ankle!"

            "Imesh-Ma, it's just a cut!"

            "A very deep cut.  You will not put any weight on that foot until it heals."

            "But…"

            "Honestly, Varansaur.  How can you expect me to treat you as an adult when you insist on acting like a child?"

            "I could have them come in here and talk to you."

            Varansaur realized that this was the first time he had heard Ej-Friekhas speak since his return to consciousness.

            "But…you don't speak Tamrielic!  How are you going to let them know I'm here?"

            "Why don't you tell me how to say 'There's someone in here who can speak your language' in their language?"

            "All right, I suppose."  Varansaur told Ej-Friekhas the proper words.  Unfortunately, Ej-Friekhas had never learned how to speak Tamrielic, and so the words came out horribly mangled.

            "What did he say?" asked one of the voices outside.

            "Well, it sounded like a very crude attempt at Tamrielic.  I think he wants us to come in there."

            "Why?"

            "I think he said that there's someone in there who either A) can speak Tamrielic, or B) wants to eat our livers with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."

            "Honestly," said Varansaur, grabbing a stick to use as a crutch and rising from the chair.  "I have to do everything around here."  He hobbled over to the door and opened it.  "You'll have to excuse my friend.  He never learned how to speak…whoa!"

            The four visitors were not hard to spot.  For a start, they had pointy ears.  Their skin was an ashen grey, and their eyes were all blood red.  One of them stepped forward.

            "Greetings, Argonian.  I am Duke Vedam Dren, of Morrowind.  This is my brother, Orvas Dren, and these are his associates, Ranes and Navil Ienith."

            Varansaur looked at the four elves.  Vedam Dren looked all right.  The Ienith brothers, however, had a very shifty look to them, and were eyeing every Argonian they saw as though they were huge bags of gold.  But as sleazy as they seemed, they were nothing compared to Orvas Dren.  Occasionally, when Vedam wasn't looking, Orvas would give him a look that said _I think a dagger would look really nice between your shoulder blades._

            "Uh…hi.  I am Varansaur.  What brings you to Black Marsh?"

            Vedam Dren unrolled a long piece of parchment.  "Ahem!  By order of his royal majesty, Emperor Uriel Septim VII, the species known as the Black Marsh kagouti is officially a protected species.  Any hunting of this species for food is prohibited by law, and will result in the immediate incarceration of the perpetrators."

            Varansaur relayed this message to the other Argonians, who all looked at one another for a moment before they realized what Dren was talking about.  A very old Argonian male named Ruthvish-Kaleem stepped forward and inquired as to why they were about to lose their most important source of protein.  Varansaur translated for Dren.

            "Well, the Black Marsh kagouti is endangered.  There are only a hundred left, and the oil in their skin is needed to protect citizens of Morrowind from coming down with some horrible diseases.

            Varansaur translated this message back to Ruthvish-Kaleem, who waved his staff impatiently.

            "You have to understand something." Dren said, before Ruthvish-Kaleem could speak.  "A volcano in the center of the island is spreading a deadly ash around Morrowind, which is giving them diseases that are difficult to prevent and even harder to cure.  We need the oil to come from a living animal, so we can use it to vaccinate our people against these diseases."

            This went on for a while, neither side giving way to the other's demands.  Finally, Dren said; "The Emperor himself has signed this treaty!  It doesn't matter what you want, hunting the Black Marsh kagouti is illegal, and we can have you arrested if you do!  That's it!"  He turned to Orvas and the Ienith brothers.  "Come on.  Let's go back to the boat.  Maybe there's something we can use to convince them."

            The Dren brothers and the Ienith brothers turned to leave.  However, when Orvas and the Ieniths were out of earshot of the duke, they began to converse in hushed voices.

            "So," said Navil, "what are we waiting for?"

            "Yeah!" Ranes added.  "Let's grab one of those scaly savages now and take it back to the plantation."

            "Ienith, you s'wit!" Orvas hissed.  "These 'scaly savages' are the deadliest guerilla warriors in Tamriel!  Don't forget that there are only three of us, since my fetcher of a brother doesn't know anything.  If we show the slightest hint of open hostility towards these lizards, we'll end up spit-roasted before we can say Vivec!"

            Ej-Friekhas leaned in close to Varansaur.  "What are they saying?  And why aren't they leaving?" 

            "I don't know.  But I'm keeping an eye on them until they leave."

            Vedam Dren returned to the clearing.  "Excuse me…Varansaur, was it?  Could I speak to you for a moment?"

            Once Varansaur and Vedam were out of earshot of the others, Dren donned a new facial expression for him: one of panic.  "All right.  What do you want?"

            Varansaur cocked his head.  "Excuse me?"

            "Your people.  What can I possibly do to convince them?  I can certainly punish them for breaking the law, but I'd rather they stay out of trouble in the first place."

            "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do.  We Argonians pride ourselves in being incredibly stubborn and living by the ancient ways of our ancestors."

            "Well, who's in charge of making decisions?"

            "We all are.  Everyone who can think for themselves has equal say in all decisions."

            "In that case, who's the most influential?"

            Varansaur thought about this.  He wanted to help the Emperor, and he never liked the taste of kagouti flesh anyway.  He knew exactly who the most influential thinker was, but the very thought of suggesting that Vedam Dren talk to him sounded like high treason to Varansaur.

            "The one you want is a male named Gil-Shtek.  You may have seen him when you arrived.  Tall, lots of scars, and strangely purple eyes."

            "Yes.  I seem to recall someone like that.  He was following us from the moment we arrived on shore."

            "Most of the Argonians in Black Marsh are about my age group.  For us, Gil-Shtek is the unofficial authority on all that is cool.  If Gil-Shtek agrees to your proposal, there's a very high chance of it passing."

            "Thank you, Varansaur.  That will be all."  The two of them walked back to the clearing, where everyone was standing in stunned silence.

            "What's wrong?" Varansaur asked.

            "It's Orvas Dren!" Ej-Friekhas piped up.  "As soon as you two left, he fainted.  The Ienith brothers say it was from the humidity.  Imesh-Ma is tending to him."

            Varansaur's jaw dropped.  "And you left her _alone_ with those three?  At her age?"  He relayed the message to the Duke, who clapped a hand over his eyes.

            "This happened last month, when we sent an expedition to Elsweyr.  He supposedly passed out from the heat, and then captured his Khajiit caretaker when nobody was looking.  I've tried to have him arrested on numerous occasions.  Unfortunately, I can't prove anything to the high Imperial court.  As if that wasn't bad enough, as the duke's brother, he not only has diplomatic immunity from any crime short of first-degree murder, but he also has to accompany me whenever I travel abroad.  I managed to keep the emperor safe by losing him in the buffet at our hotel in Cyrodiil."

            "Imesh-Ma is in danger!  We need to save her!"

            Varansaur and the Duke rushed into the house.  There, they found Orvas Dren, half seated-half lying on a cot, with a glazed expression on his face.  Imesh-Ma was standing over him, looking at him disapprovingly.

            "Oh, come on, you big baby.  Drink your marshmerrow tea and get over it."

            Orvas Dren looked at Varansaur.  "What did she say?" he asked feebly.

            Varansaur turned to the duke.  "Just for the record, your brother is a horrible actor."

            The door to the bathroom, or the Argonian equivalent, banged open, and Navil Ienith came charging out.  "That was the most disgusting restroom I have ever been in!  But you won't believe what I found!"  He grabbed the Duke by the hand and pulled him into the "bathroom".  Inside, a box which contained medicine and stuff of that nature was open, and full of brown bottles of stuff Varansaur had never seen in his life.

            Vedam Dren's eyes widened.  "Skooma!"

            "Skooma?"  Varansaur asked.

            "Yes," said Ranes Ienith, stepping out of the shadows.  "Skooma.  The most illegal drug in the Empire.  And we just caught the two of you with a whole crate of the stuff!"

            "You _caught_ us?  That crate was almost empty this morning!  You planted it there!"

            Orvas Dren got up, rather too quickly for someone who was supposed to only be semi-conscious.  "Prove it.  The only time any of us had access to that room was in the brief period in which you were speaking to my brother.  The only one to even enter that room during that time was Navil.  And that's an awful lot of skooma for one man to plant in such a short period of time."

            "How would you know how much skooma is in there?  You've been lying on that cot the entire time!  Besides, didn't you use to be only semi-conscious a few seconds ago?"

            "Your aunt's tea really does wonders."

            "How did you know she was my aunt?"

            Imesh-Ma turned to Varansaur and said, in surprisingly clear Tamrielic, "Because I told him, of course!"

            Varansaur started.  "You…you can speak Tamrielic?"

            "Of course!  Your father and I were born on a slave ship!  We grew up speaking Tamrielic.  That's why you were able to learn it so fast."

            "This is all very nice," Vedam Dren said, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest the two of you for drug possession."

            "The Ienith brothers and I will take Varansaur.  You take the old one."

            "Nice try, little bro.  You three take the old one.  _I'll_ take Varansaur.  And you are going in front, so I can watch you."

Some more reviews would be welcome.  More than just one per chapter would be nice.


	4. The plot thickens

Maybe it's because I'm used to the steady stream of reviews from the KP section, but I have not received any reviews! I shouldn't be too surprised. Kim Possible has about 516 stories; Morrowind has nine. But I know that there are some of you out there. REVIEW 

No, I don't own them. Nor do I own that other guy. So stop asking. 

Chapter 4

Emperor Uriel Septim VII slowly scanned the papers that his elite guard had given him.

"Very nice, Adaves. Very nice indeed. I am particularly intrigued with this Bosmer pirate you arrested."

"Why is that, my lord?"

"Well, let's see here…where did I put that? Ah, here it is. 'Oreotragus, Bosmer, male, pirate, 22 years old. Arrested for serial murder, grand theft, barter of stolen and contraband goods, and resisting arrest.' But this is the interesting part. 'Born on the twelfth day of the Sign of the Tower, 3E 404. Parents, unknown.'"

"So?"

"He was born on the right date, with uncertain parents! If we can get him into our employ, he'll be the perfect way to keep those Ashlanders quiet!"

"Yes. Unfortunately, there's a little flaw in your logic." Adaves handed the Emperor another arrest record.

"Hmm. Let's see here. 'Varansaur, Argonian, male, rogue, 22 years old, arrested for skooma possession. Born on the twelfth day of the Sign of the Tower, 3E 404…Parents unknown?' We have two potential candidates, and both are locked up in the imperial prisons!"

"What should we do about it?"

"Easy! Release them both!"

Adaves did a quick double-take. "But…the prophecy clearly states that there is _one_ person!"

"Yes, but how are we supposed to know if even one of them is the right one? With two prospective candidates, the Ashlanders will be so busy dealing with them they won't have time to try anything revolt-oriented!"

"Aren't you worried about the tribunal? You know what's happened to the rest of the potential candidates that we've tried. Once they get to Morrowind, they tell everyone about it, and the tribunal temple always has them silenced!"

"Then we won't tell them! We'll spontaneously decide to release them, and only give them minimal orders! We'll give them a package through my old friend Sellus, and have that package delivered to my trusted informant, Caius. Hopefully, by the time they learn what's going on, they'll have also learned to keep their mouths shut about it."

"Did you say Caius? As in Caius Cosades? That man is still in the Blades?"

"He may have a substance problem, but he has never once failed me in his thirty years of service." Here, the Emperor paused for a fit of violent coughing. When he was able to catch his breath again, he looked straight at Adaves and said; "Oreotragus is in my official Imperial Penitentiary. Varansaur's crime was considerably less severe, so he is in the St. Tiber Correctional facility in the Wrothgarian Mountains. Release them both immediately."

"I'm still not sure how the one who committed the lesser crime was the one who got sent to Orsinium."

"You and your prejudices. The Orcs have been nothing if not utterly loyal to the Empire. The only reason they live tough, barbaric lives is because they've been forced to live in a tough, barbaric habitat. They're actually a very caring race."

"Whatever. Very well. I shall deliver their release orders this very day."

"Good. And, how many times do I have to remind you to get more meteor slime?"


	5. And so it begins

This is the last time I'm putting this disclaimer in.  You should know by now who I own and don't own.

Chapter 5

          Varansaur found himself in a strange place.  The air was thick with a swirling red dust.  A strangely eerie voice could be heard very clearly, but no apparent speaker could be seen.  The voice was clearly female, but with distinctive masculine undertones, which made it seem to belong to something from another universe.

            "They have taken you, first by carriage and then by boat, to the east, to Morrowind.  Fear not, for I am watchful.  You have been chosen!"

            A bolt of lightning struck the ground, and a strange dragon-like bird dove at Varansaur's head.  He screamed and fell to the ground.

            "Wake up.  We're here.  Why are you shaking?  Are you okay?  Wake up!"

            In an instant, the red wasteland vanished, and was replaced by the familiar wood of a prison ship.  Varansaur cautiously raised his head.  He was on the floor.  The other inhabitants of his cell, mostly Nords and Altmer, were staring at him.  The one Dunmer in the room helped Varansaur to his feet.

            "Stand up.  There you go.  You were dreaming.  What's your name?"

            Varansaur put a hand to his head.  His name?  He knew he had one, but it hadn't been spoken aloud in so long, it seemed to be an alien word.  "V…Varansaur…I think."

            "My name's Jiub." he said.  "I don't think that's my real name.  But everyone calls me Jiub.  It means scar in Akaviri."  Jiub pointed to a very distinctive vertical scar across his right eye.

            "I feel like crap.  That was the most bizarre dream I've ever had."

            "Yes, well, I advise you not to go around telling people that you had a bizarre dream.  In Morrowind, if you have a bizarre dream, the temple thinks you're a heretic.  And they want to lock you up.  If you have a bizarre dream, and the temple thinks it _means_ something, they think you're a prophet or a witch.  And they want to lock you up.  So, my advice to you is to stay quiet about your dreams around people you can't trust."

            "Did you say 'Morrowind'?"

            "Yeah.  I heard them say we've reached Morrowind.  I'm sure they'll let us go."

            "Quiet!" one of the Nords hissed.  "Here comes the guard!"

            Everyone immediately retreated to their bed.  The door creaked open, and an armored Imperial guard entered the room.  He looked at a piece of paper in his hand, scanned the room, and pointed straight at Varansaur.  "You.  Argonian.  Come with me."

            Varansaur hesitantly got up and followed the guard to the hatch that led to the deck of the ship.

            "Get yourself up on deck, and let's make this as civil as possible."

            "Someone didn't drink his coffee this morning."

            The guard prodded Varansaur in the back with the hilt of his sword.  "All right!  I'm going!  Sheesh."

            Varansaur was escorted to a small building with wooden beams visible in the plaster.  Inside, he was greeted by a balding Breton man, who identified himself as Socius Ergalla.

            "Ah, yes.  We've been expecting you.  You'll have to fill out these forms before you're officially released."  Ergalla handed Varansaur a paper that asked him to list his previous occupation (prior to his incarceration) and his skills.  Varansaur didn't really have an occupation, so he wrote "rogue".  

            "As for skills…hmm, let's see…well, I know how to use short blades, but I'm also somewhat knowledgeable about axes, long blades, and fisticuffs.  I'm comfortable wearing light or medium armor, though I prefer medium, and my hobbies include running, swimming, and shopping, though I tend to do more selling than buying.  I know how to use a shield, and I have somewhat of a way with words.  There.  That should be it."

            He handed the paper back to Ergalla, who read it carefully.  "Interesting.  The letter that preceded you mentioned you were born under a certain sign.  And, what would that be?"

            Unfamiliar with Imperial astrology, Varansaur looked at an easy reference chart on the wall.  According to whatever special powers he possessed, and the day he was born, that was how he would determine his birthsign.  He could remember a few things.  He was immune to all forms of poison, very resistant to disease, and could cast a water-breathing spell on himself.  But all that stuff was just part of being an Argonian.  He could also open complex locks and smell animals, enchantments, and even keys from up to 200 feet away.  Checking that against his birth date, he soon deduced that he was born under the sign of…

            "The tower!"

            "Very good.  Now before I stamp these papers, make sure this information is correct."

            Varansaur verified the information on his release papers and was escorted into the hallway.  The guard said; "Continue through to the next office and talk to Sellus Gravius.  He'll finish your release."  With that, he closed the door behind him, leaving Varansaur alone in the Census and Excise Office.

            Varansaur looked through the room he was in.  It seemed to have once been full of fine artifacts.  All of them were gone.  Apparently, some thief had been there.  Varansaur scanned the room.  It contained a few containers, a shelf, and a single plate on the table.  On the plate was…it couldn't be…but it was…crab meat!  Greedily, Varansaur snatched up a handful of the strange anemic, yellow meat and stuffed it into his mouth.  It had been so long since he had tasted mudcrab flesh.  After he finished his snack, he looked more closely at the plate on which he had found it.

            "Wow.  This plate is of very fine quality.  Silver, if I'm not mistaken.  I wonder why the guy who cleaned this place out left it here?"  Then, against his better judgment, he slipped it under his shirt, which he tucked into his pants to prevent the plate from slipping out.  After all, something this fine could probably sell for a few coins.  _Finally,_ he thought, _a use for these cursed clothes._

            Then, he noticed something else on the table.  A note was stuck to it with a small iron dagger.  The note read; 

            "Hrisskar-

                        Don't forget our wager.  I want this dagger as sharp as a scamp's claw by tomorrow morning."

            "Well, I'm sure this Hrisskar fellow wouldn't mind if he didn't have to follow up on his bargain."  With that, he plucked the dagger from the table and slid it in his belt loop.  (He didn't have an actual belt.)

            After liberating some coins from their chest with the help of a lock pick that was lying under the table, Varansaur decided that there was nothing else of interest in the room, and proceeded to walk outside.  From there, he was in a walled-in yard.  The only ways out were through the door through which he entered, and another one in the side of a small stone building.  Varansaur approached this second door.  As he got close, though, something glinted at the bottom of a rain barrel next to the door.  He peered inside and found a small ring sitting in the water.  After carefully extracting it from the barrel, Varansaur could tell that this ring was enchanted to heal minor wounds.

            Once inside the second building, he was greeted by Sellus Gravius, a man wearing golden Imperial armor.  The man took Varansaur's release papers and read them over.

            "Hmm.  Very well.  You have a specific duty that the emperor wants you to fulfill."  He handed Varansaur a small wrapped package.  "Deliver that package to Caius Cosades, in the city of Balmora.  Balmora is to the north of here.  It's free to walk, but the silt strider is safer.  Once in Balmora, ask around as to Cosades' address.  Someone in the South Wall Corner Club should know.  Under no circumstances are you to open the package yourself.  Are there any questions?"

            "Yes.  What's a silt strider?"

            "A silt strider is a massive insect used for inter-city transit.  The operator tells the bug where to go by manipulating exposed tendons."

            "Sorry I asked.  Very well.  Balmora it is."

            With that, Varansaur exited the one-room building, finding himself in the streets of a small town.  After quickly looking the town over, he began to head north, towards Balmora.


	6. Serious villainy

Yadda, yadda, disclaimer, yadda yadda.  Okay, so I lied about not using any more disclaimers.

Chapter 6

            "We were so _close!!!_"

            Orvas Dren slammed his fist upon the table, causing the dishes to jump several inches in the air.  Navil Ienith's plate, which was full of food, emptied itself into his lap.

            "We were so close!" Dren repeated.  "There could be another Argonian slave out there, tilling the fields, but now he's probably rotting in prison somewhere, where he's completely useless to me!"

            "Don't beat yourself up about this, boss." Ranes said, as he tried to help his brother wipe the comberries from his pants.  "We lost one slave that we didn't really need because your brother was smarter than we give him credit."

            "What do you mean?"

            "I heard him talking to the Argonian before they came in.  Obviously, he knows about your fainting trick."

            "Are you saying that my ideas are bad ones?"

            "No, I'm not saying that at all.  I'm saying they're outdated.  You know, the whole 'fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me' deal."

            "I'm curious, Ienith.  How did you manage to plant that much skooma in so little time?"

            "Well," said Navil, quietly swelling with pride, "the fact is that only nine of those bottles contained skooma.  The rest were simply bottles of some herbal medicines that were already there and happened to be the same color.  I made sure to put one of the real skooma bottles on top, so the Duke would take it back as evidence."

            "But, how did you sneak nine bottles of skooma into Black Marsh without attracting attention?"

            Navil took his cuirass down from the wall and turned it inside-out, so Orvas and Ranes could see the pockets on the inside.

            "This cuirass is a smuggler's best friend.  It can store skooma, dwemer items, chunks of ebony, or even a Daedric wakizashi without even causing discomfort."

            "You see?  That's what I'm talking about.  This plan was so perfectly thought out!  We get in, frame the Argonians for drug possession, and then 'volunteer' to take them into custody.  Only when we get to the Imperial court, we stash him in a box and pretend he escaped!  Then, we take the box back to the plantation and put the n'wah to work!  It should have succeeded!"

            "Well, if we ever try this again, you shouldn't try passing out.  The Duke obviously knows it's a trick."

            "Navil's right, boss.  We need a new plan."  
            "Yes.  Preferably one that involves removing Vedam from our way, forever."

            "I couldn't agree with you more."

            The new voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.  Dren and the Ienith brothers drew their weapons and looked around frantically for the intruder.

            "Put your weapons down.  I'm not actually here.  I'm just…a projection.  A hologram, if you will."

            "Who are you?  Show yourself!"

            "All right.  I will."  A new figure materialized in the center of the room.  It looked like an emaciated Dunmer in a loin cloth.  He had three-inch bloodstained claws growing from his fingers.  His face and shoulders were obscured by a massive golden mask.

            Orvas Dren dropped his sword.  "The sharmat!"  He dropped to his knees and began muttering "_Submit to the Three, thy spirits and thy lords_" very fast, over and over.

            "Don't waste your time.  I know perfectly well that you abandoned your faith in the false gods of the Tribunal years ago."

            Dren stood up.  "You know a lot about me, sharmat.  What do you want?"

            "First, I would like you to stop calling me 'sharmat'.  I do have a name, you know."

            "Very well, then.  What do you want, Dagoth Ur?  It…it's just so much easier to call you sharmat."

            "True.  But that is not my name."

            "Why don't you just tell us why you're here?"

            In an instant, one of Dagoth Ur's massive claws was under Navil Ienith's chin.  "Is that any way to talk to a god?  But," he put his arm down "if I kill you, it won't do anything to further my cause."

            "Your cause?"

            "Yes.  I'd like to make a proposition to you three.  You get rid of Duke Vedam Dren, and I make you high-ranking members of House Dagoth, once I return it to its former glory."

            Dren picked up his sword.  "What's the catch?"

            "No catch.  If you do this, we will all benefit.  You will no longer have to worry about the duke interfering in your plans.  Plus, the Camonna Tong will have the power it needs to drive the Thieves' Guild into extinction!"

            "I like that part.  But what do _you_ want out of this?"

            "Me?  I want the duke out of my way just as much as you do.  I'm not worried about the Tribunal.  Almalexia and Sotha Sil are hundreds of miles away, and Vivec is all but powerless.  Those foul Ashlanders are too busy with their silly prophecies to be of any worry to me.  But the duke is a puppet of the Empire.  Between the Imperial Legion, the Imperial Cult, the Imperial Knights, House Hlaalu, and the infernal Blades, those people are everywhere, and I can't do a thing about them on my own."

            Navil Ienith looked Dagoth Ur straight in the eye…or where he was pretty sure his eye was.  "We are evil.  There's no sense denying that.  But to side with you is madness!  Everyone wants to remove you once and for all, and we will be hung for treason if we side with you."

            Orvas put a hand on Navil's shoulder.  "Don't be so hasty.  If Vivec truly is powerless to stop him, joining him will probably be the best solution.  Besides, as you said, we are evil.  What better way to prove it?"

            "I'm glad you feel that way, Dren.  I was afraid I would have to give you my little brainchild in order to convince you."  Dagoth Ur turned to leave.  "I expect a full report in two weeks!"  With that, the hologram vanished.

            Orvas Dren turned to his associates.  "Boys, we have some serious villainy to work up!  Let's get started!"

And this is where those reviews I was complaining about back in chapter four will come in handy.  You see, this is as far as I got when I first wrote this story.


	7. City of Prejudice

To elyon von tralossk: Yes!  I knew somebody else out there had a healthy respect for the humble Argonian!  I have a friend who thinks Argonians are scum, just because they can't wear boots or closed helmets.  The nerve of that guy.

All Morrowind characters, locations, etc. are licensed property of Bethesda Softworks Inc., and not mine.

Chapter 7

            Varansaur had successfully sold the silver plate for some cash, which he had used to buy a silt strider ticket to Balmora.          

            "And now, we are crossing the Odai River!  That's Odai, for those of you who are playing Vvardenfell Landmarks Bingo!"

            The silt strider operator had been at this for the past few hours.  Varansaur had to stick his shirt to his seat with his dagger to keep himself from getting up and beating up the operator.

            "And now, we are approaching our next stop, Balmora!  Balmora is the Council Seat of Great House Hlaalu, and the largest town on Vvardenfell except for Vivec City.  Located on the Odai River, and sitting astride the Ald'ruhn-Vivec road, Balmora is an important mercantile trade and travel center.  High Town is the administrative center, with the Temple and manor homes.  The shops, guilds, and tradehouses of the Commercial District are north of the river; Labor Town's modest cornerclubs and homes are south of the river."

            "And next, I suppose you're going to point out the gift shop?"

            The operator gave Varansaur a very dark look.  "Oh sure.  Be another one of the people who demean the humble tour guide.  You're just like everyone else!"

            "All I know is that I am this close" Varansaur held his fingers about nostril-width apart "to jumping ship."

            "Jumping?  But we're three stories up!"

            "My point, exactly."

            "Whoa!" the operator shouted, pulling on the silt strider's tendons.  The bug bellowed, and planted its feet firmly into the ground, causing the passengers to lurch forward, rather painfully.  "Way to go, pal.  You almost made me miss the stop.  Please tell me this is where you're getting off."

            "Fortunately, yes."

            Varansaur stepped off of the silt strider, along with a Nord woman with dark hair.  She cast a hateful glance at the building across the street from the silt strider port, before heading across the river.

            _What was that about?_ Varansaur asked himself.  "Now, let's see.  He told me to ask at the South Wall Corner Club.  Maybe it would be somewhere along the south wall?"

            As he headed in the same direction as the Nord woman, he heard something scuffling in a nearby alley.  He backed up, and saw a Dunmer man holding what was clearly an Argonian female against the wall.

            "I swear, Velas," the Argonian hissed, "if you don't release me in five seconds…"

            "You'll what?  Stick your tongue out at me?"  The Dunmer laughed maliciously, and pulled a strange yellowish axe from his belt.

            "What did I ever do to you?"

            "Aside from being a lizard, you mean?"

            The Argonian tried to cry out for help, but Velas clamped his hand over her face, and held his axe up to her throat.  "Now, the Camonna Tong knows that you have a secret stash of gold hidden somewhere in the city.  Where is it?"

            The Argonian mumbled something in reply.

            "What?  I can't understand you."

            "That's because you have your hand over her mouth, stupid!" Varansaur shouted, from right behind Velas.  "Allow me to correct that!"  Varansaur pulled his arm back and punched Velas squarely in the mouth.  Velas staggered backwards, stood dazed for a few seconds, and then spit out a tooth into his hand.

            "Oooohhh!" Velas was seething as he lifted his axe.  "Looks like I'm going home with a new pair of lizard-skin boots!"  He held his axe high over his head, giving his original victim an opportunity to bite him on the wrist, hard.  Velas screamed, and his axe clattered to the ground, where Varansaur stepped on it.

            "You want it?  Go get it!"  With that, Varansaur slid the axe so that it rebounded off the wall, slid down the stairs, and spun into the street below.  "Go on!  Go and retrieve your murder weapon, while everyone is watching."

            Velas looked at Varansaur, his already red eyes ablaze.  "You fetchers may have won this round, but the Camonna Tong knows where you live."

            "You don't even know who I am!" Varansaur scoffed.

            "I know that you're an outlander, and an Argonian.  The Camonna Tong won't worry about any other details."  Velas left the alley and entered the building at which Varansaur had seen the Nord woman glare.

            "Are you all right?" Varansaur turned to the Argonian female.

            "Yes.  Thank you.  I don't know where he got the idea that I have a secret stash of gold.  The only truly wealthy Argonian in Vvardenfell that I know of is Skink-in-Tree's-Shade.  Not only does he live all the way over in Sadrith Mora, but he's also the second-highest ranking member of the Mages' Guild.  Nobody messes with him.  By the way, my name's Hul."

            "Varansaur.  Who was that guy?"

            "I think his name was Thanelen Velas.  He's a Camonna Tong fatcat."

            "A Ca-whatta whosit?"

            "The Camonna Tong is the local criminal syndicate in Morrowind.  They are known throughout the Empire for their brutal disregard for other people's feelings and lives.  They'll do anything to further their own causes.  It's a wonder their leader hasn't tried to overthrow his brother already."

            "Why?"

            "Well, the leader of the Camonna Tong is Orvas Dren.  He's a wealthy plantation owner who owns a netch ranch in the Ascadian Isles region."

            Varansaur's arms suddenly went limp.  A single word managed to hiss from his lips, mixed with more loathing than Varansaur had ever felt possible for one person.  "_Dren__!_"

            "Do you know him?"

            "He's the reason I'm here in the first place!  He framed me for a crime I didn't commit and got me sent to a prison run by Orcs!"

            "Hey!"  Varansaur started.  He had forgotten that this city was inhabited.  He and Hul had been walking during their conversation.

            "Hey!" the gruff voice repeated.  "What you got against Orcs?"

            Varansaur turned to see a very angry Orc standing behind him.

            "As a race, nothing.  But as prison guards…"

            "Me think you just not like Orcs."

            "That's not true.  I just meant…"

            "You just meant you just as bad as Camonna Tong, who not like Argonians."

            "Have you ever tried living in a prison in the Wrothgarian Mountains?"

            "Yes.  Me spent three years for stealing shiny candlestick."  With that, the Orc snorted at Varansaur and stormed off down the street.

            "Is he right?  Am I prejudiced against Orcs?"

            "Not now.  We're here."

            "Where is _here_, exactly?"

            "This," Hul said, "is the South Wall.  There's no better place in Balmora to hide from the Camonna Tong."

            Varansaur recognized the name "South Wall" as the place that Sellus Gravius had suggested he ask for directions to Caius Cosades' house.  "Are you sure they'll help us?"

            "Trust me.  The Thieves' Guild and the Camonna Tong are arch enemies.  All you have to do is say 'The Camonna Tong' is after me, and they'll all jump to help you."

            "Well that's a relief, because…wait, did you say 'Thieves' Guild'?"

            "Don't worry.  They're actually an honorable faction, who just happens to make a living by stealing things."

            "If you say so."

            Varansaur and Hul entered the building.  In the foyer, Varansaur saw the dark-haired Nord woman with whom he had gotten off the silt strider.  She was deep in conversation with a female Khajiit wearing chitin armor.

            "Have you done as Habasi requested, sister Sottilde?"  the Khajiit purred.

            "If I remember correctly, you wanted me to clean out the Census and Excise offices in Seyda Neen."

            "Yes.  Do you have all the silver things Habasi wanted?"

            "Unfortunately, somebody else got there first."

            "What?"

            "When I got there, the room was completely empty, except for one plate, a lockpick on the floor, and a dagger stuck to the table."

            "Why did you not take them?"

            "According to the note under the dagger, it belonged to Hrisskar Flat-Foot had lost a bet, and was supposed to sharpen it.  The only one who can keep a Nord man to his word is another Nord man, so the person who owned the dagger was clearly a Nord man, and you do not want to anger a Nord man.  Trust me.  I used to be married to one."

            "What of the plate and the lockpick?"

            "The plate was covered with crab meat.  I'm deathly allergic to crab meat.  And the lockpick…you know, I'm not sure why I left the lockpick."

            "Our client will not be happy if he does not get what he wanted."

            "I know.  Maybe Ra'Virr has some things that I need."

            Varansaur leaned closer to Hul.  "I don't like this."

            "Trust me.  They've helped me out of a bunch of tight scrapes."

            *                      *                      *

            Eventually, Varansaur managed to get the information he needed, after politely turning down a request from Habasi to join the Thieves' Guild.

            "If you are sure," she said, somewhat disappointed.  "But Habasi knows you will change your mind.  When you do, she will be right here."

            Varansaur left the South Wall and walked up the street, towards a door visible at the other end.  All the while, he kept his eyes peeled for any signs of Thanelen Velas, or the irate Orc.  At last, he reached his destination and knocked on the door.

            The door opened just a crack, and a grey-haired Imperial man stuck his head out and said "Yes?"

            "I'm looking for a Caius Cosades…"

            "Shh!!" the man hissed, grabbing Varansaur by the collar and pulling him inside.

            The room was very small, and poorly lit.  The man who had pulled Varansaur inside had no shirt on, and there was a sickeningly sweet smell to him.

            "So, are you Caius Cosades, then?"

            "Yes.  I can't imagine how you got my name…"

            "Sellus Gravius in Seyda Neen told me to deliver this package for you."

            Caius Cosades raised an eyebrow, before slowly taking the package from Varansaur's hand and opening it.  It only contained a letter.  In the dim candlelight, Varansaur could just barely make out the beginning of the letter through the back of the paper.  From what he saw, it appeared to say;

            "UDQMDWLGF UALYK ECKAGIK  
MBAGKXWTFSNW SX VVW IPTWTWSL  
RVVGF GF EPSFSK  
DLVWEHGR RJ AODWRLED KBLEOPAISFCH  
MF XJSRGIFHSDL GMKVFACW ISUHWRQ  
TJQJANFIK  
  
K VSVH XZG VGNRV LQ OUQXEAPH QOX  
AAVV ZIV QSLSKTBW OKGZEV  
GGPQWRQMFI DUNDQW CB ANGMNKRMAO  
SX PC JAQO GT QGNVIIWSFCH…"

            To Varansaur, it was pure jibberish.  But Cosades clearly saw something shocking in the seemingly random string of letters.  "This is not right."

            "Beg your pardon?"

            "Are you sure he said 'Caius Cosades'?"

            "Yes.  He was very clear on that name."

            "That's weird." Cosades mused.  He stepped aside, revealing a ragtag Bosmer in mismatched armor.  "I was just talking to this man here.  Apparently, you two got the exact same orders."

            And this is where the title comes into play.  I still am open to suggestions as to where to take it from here.


	8. Dagoth and the Tong

Wow.  Five reviews in one go.  That's a personal record.

To Dano the Overlander: What?  What does that have to do with anything?  I know all about Percius Mercius by the way (yes, he is in Ald-ruhn).  I have no idea what you meant by "You could try the mages guild", though.  That confused me to no end.

To Anneke Xannon Shallot: I do feel loved.  Thank you.

Do I really need to tell you who I own and don't own?  Methinks not.

                                    Chapter 8

            "So, what have you learned?"

            "Not much, sir."

            Orvas Dren stood up and approached Thanelen Velas.  "What do you mean, 'Not much'?"

            "Hul was a tough nut to crack.  She gave me several idle threats, until I managed to hold my axe to her throat."

            "And, why didn't this work?"

            "There was another Argonian in the immediate vicinity.  They worked together to kick my axe into the middle of the street, and I couldn't retrieve it without arousing suspicion."

            "Another Argonian?  Was it that damned Only-He-Stands-There?  Or that infernal Nine-Toes?"

            "No.  This one was an outlander.  Dirt poor, fresh off the ship.  He had a dagger, but it was made of cheap iron.  But he could punch hard."

            "An Argonian outlander.  In Balmora.  Something tells me something's up.  What happened?"

            "They went in the general direction of the South Wall, no doubt to ask those Thieves' Guild scum for protection.  I never saw Hul again, but my spies tell me that the male went to that strange house at the other end of the street.  There is somebody living in it, but we don't know who."

            "Seems a little out-of-the-ordinary."

            "It gets weirder.  Only half an hour earlier, a Bosmer male wearing a Colovian fur helm got off the silt strider, went to the South Wall, and then to that same house."

            "Hmm.  Did you recognize him?"

            "No.  He didn't match our records of anyone on Vvardenfell.  He was an outlander, as well."

            "Two outlanders meeting in the house of an unknown person.  This seems a little suspicious.  Go back to Balmora.  I need to think about this."

            "Yes, sir."  Velas turned and left, relieved that Dren hadn't done anything to him for failing to get Hul's money.

            Orvas Dren, meanwhile, paced nervously for a while, until he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye.

            "I see you!" Dren shouted, pulling his sword from its scabbard.  "Spying on me, eh?"

            "What kind of greeting is that?" the figure asked, as the image of Dagoth Ur stepped out from behind Dren's closet.  "Whatever happened to 'Hey, look who's here!  Now it's a party!'"

            Dren kneeled.  "Pardon me, my lord Dagoth Ur.  I thought that…"

            "You are too paranoid.  Lighten up.  The two-week deadline is over…now.  What have you done?"

            "Unfortunately, very little.  Running the Camonna Tong has kept me quite busy.  But I think I may have an idea what the empire is up to."

            "You disappoint me, to say the very least."

            "Two outlanders just met at the residence of a very mysterious person in Balmora."

            "Or, maybe I'm not so disappointed after all.  I think I know what the Emperor's up to.  And if I read the stars correctly, I think he may be on the right track this time.  Though, I'm not sure where he's going with the two-people thing.  I shall have to investigate this further.  You have done well, Dren.  But I expect you to have made much more progress next time.  Don't forget that I originally wanted your brother dead.  I am still set on this."  With that, Dagoth Ur stepped back behind the closet and vanished from sight.

            Dren slowly got to his feet.  This was all a little confusing.  Still, he had to do what he did best.

            "Ranes!  Navil!  Get your pathetic carcasses up here in fifteen seconds, or you're both fired!"

            The sound of racing feet answered Dren's shouts.  14.5 seconds later, the Ienith brothers arrived, panting heavily, in Dren's quarters.

            "That was 14.5 seconds." Ranes Ienith gasped.  "I counted them."

            "Actually, for me it was more like 14.498 seconds."

            Ranes turned very slowly to his brother.  "Don't make me hurt you."

            "Not if I hurt you first!"  
            "I" Orvas Dren said, in a disturbingly calm voice "will hurt both of you if you do not tell me what progress you have made on operation 'Duke Orvas'"

            "Not much, I'm afraid.  He never seems to go anywhere without an entourage of at least fifteen people."

            "Never?"

            "Well, only to the bathroom, and even then there are guards standing by."

            "That's our best bet?  When he's in the bathroom?  Isn't there any time when his entourage is not permitted to follow him?"

            "Oh yeah!  That's right!  The Grand Imperial Council!"

            "Who's with him then?"

            "Well, there's his own personal elite bodyguard, of course."

            "The one I recruited for him.  He should be a pushover.  Anyone else?"

            "Well…who else is there?  Oh yeah!  Varus Vantinius, Knight of the Imperial Dragon."

            "Damn!" Dren shouted.  Well, that's not _really_ what he said.  What he _really_ said cannot be published, as it would just be bleeped out anyway.  

"Very well.  Go back to…whatever it is you do when I'm not screaming at you."

            As the Ienith brothers left, they began speaking in hushed voices that their master couldn't hear.

            "When he's not screaming at us?  That would be…when he's asleep."

            "No, I've heard him.  He doesn't even stop then."

            Meanwhile, Orvas Dren sat down on the stairs.  "Enjoy your security while you can, brother.  One way or another, I will dispose of you."


	9. Honor Among Thieves

To Anneke Xannon Shallot: Thanks for that mental image.  I will have nightmares for the rest of my life.

Once again…nobody is owned by me.  Well, except Varansaur and Oreotragus.

Chapter 9

"Okay, let's just calmly try to figure this out."

"Maybe the Emperor figured that whatever he wanted us to do is a two-person job." the Bosmer suggested.

"No, that's not likely." Cosades said, still pacing, which was very difficult given the size of the room.  "All right.  Here's what we'll do.  You two are very obviously new in town.  Go do some freelance work for a while.  Join a faction.  That's a good way to gain a reputation.  Come back tomorrow, and I should have this whole mess figured out."

            As the Bosmer left, Cosades put a hand on Varansaur's shoulder.  "Keep a close eye on that one.  I don't trust him."  With that, he saw Varansaur out the door, which he closed behind him.

            "That was interesting." Varansaur said.

            "Well, we might as well get down to the introductions," the Bosmer said, holding out his hand.  "I'm Oreotragus."

            "Varansaur.  What are you doing in Morrowind?"

            "Well…I was arrested."

            "For what?"

            "Oh, you know, multiple thefts, selling the stuff I had stolen, resisting arrest…murder…piracy…that sort of thing.  I was held in the Imperial Penitentiary for a while, before I was suddenly shipped here and released on the Emperor's orders.  What about you?"

            Varansaur's mind was reeling.  _Theft?__  Murder?  Wait, did he just say he was a _pirate_?  No wonder Cosades doesn't trust him._

"Hello?  Did you hear me?"

            "Huh?  Oh.  Well, for me, it was a lot like that, except that I was arrested because I was framed for skooma possession.  It was that fetcher, Orvas Dren."

            Oreotragus burst out laughing.  "_Skooma_ possession?  That was it?  And you didn't even _do_ it?  This is too much.  You're killing me."

            "I didn't find it funny at all."

            Oreotragus sat up and wiped a tear from his eye, still trying to catch his breath.  "I'm sorry, but when you spend as much time in prison as I did, committing serious crimes becomes logically equivalent to gaining respect among your fellow inmates."

            "But we're not in prison right now, and frankly, I'd rather not go back."

            _Man, _Oreotragus thought, _this guy's a wuss._  "Well, you heard the man.  We should join a faction."

            "Okay.  Any suggestions?" Varansaur said, before realizing what he was saying.

            "I'm already in a faction.  But I think maybe you'd be good in it as well.  Have you ever considered joining the Thieves' Guild?"

            "It's been brought to my attention.  Sugar-Lips Habasi asked me to join already."

            "And?"

            "I told her I was disinclined to acquiesce to her request."

            Oreotragus raised an eyebrow.

            "Means 'No'."

            "You turned down a chance to join the Thieves' Guild…why?"

            "Hello?  Did you not hear a word I said about not going back to prison?"

            "You won't go to prison.  The Guild will make sure of that.  Besides, didn't you say Orvas Dren was the one who got you sent to prison?"

            "Yeah…"

            "Well, his gang, the Camonna Tong is practically at war with the Thieves' Guild.  What better way to get back at him, then, than to join his arch enemies?"

            "Hmm.  All right, let's check out this club of yours."

            "It's not a club!  It's a _guild!_"

            "Whatever."

            Several minutes later, Varansaur was once again inside the South Wall.  He told Habasi that he had reconsidered her offer and decided to join the Thieves' Guild after all.

            "Splendid!" Habasi cried.  "Habasi knows you will do well.  Especially since Habasi is assigning brother Oreotragus to be your personal trainer!"

            Oreotragus nearly dropped the sword he was polishing.  "Trainer!?  You can't train someone how to be a thief!  It's not a routine that can be taught.  Thievery is an art.  You either have it, or you don't."

            "Oh, he has it.  Habasi can see that he has it.  You just have to show him how to use it."  She turned to Varansaur.  "Are you ready for your first assignment?"

            "Not really.  I'd like to get used to the fact that I'm now an official thief."

            "Well then, I'll introduce you to everybody.  You've met Sugar-Lips Habasi, obviously.  She's in charge of the Balmora branch of the Thieves' Guild."

            Oreotragus led Varansaur back into the foyer.  "This is Sottilde," he said, gesturing to the dark-haired Nord woman Varansaur had seen get off the silt strider.

            "Hey, don't I know you?" Sottilde said.  "You got into a fight with the silt strider operator on our way here from Seyda Neen."

            "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say it was an actual fight.  I mean, maybe an argument, a scuffle, but no, not a fight."

            Sottilde cast Varansaur a strange, sideways glance.  "Riiight…"

            "And over here," Oreotragus turned Varansaur to an Imperial man coming down the stairs "is Bacola Closius.  He's the proprietor of the South Wall.  He deals with everyone who comes in here that isn't a member of the guild."

            "Why would a non-member want to come in here?"

            "We rent beds." Closius replied.  "The only other place in town that does that is the Council Club, and that's where the Camonna Tong hangs out.  Plus, we are a good place to get a nice stiff drink.  Not necessarily alcoholic," he added quickly, "just stiff."

            Oreotragus led Varansaur back downstairs, into the below-ground level.  "Here, we have Chirranirr.  She sells quality lockpicks.  Over here is Phane Rielle.  If you get into a scrape, there are really only four people in Vvardenfell who can help you out.  There's Tongue-Toad in Ald-ruhn, Crazy-Legs Antaranamo in Vivec city, Rissinia in Sadrith Mora, and Rielle here in Balmora."

            "This guy," Oreotragus pointed to a male Argonian in a long blue robe "is Only-He-Stands-There.  We're not quite sure why he's always here.  He's not a member of the guild.  He never seems to buy anything.  But he's not hurting anything, so we let him stay."

            "For an outlander, you seem to know a lot about this place."

            "I spent the first few hours here, getting to know everything there is to know about Balmora.  Then, I left for Caius Cosades, apparently only half an hour before you got here."

            "Well?" asked Habasi, coming down the stairs.  "Are you ready now?"

            "How long would I have to follow through on this assignment if I accept?"

            "As long as you need.  Thievery is all about seizing opportunities."

            "Very well.  What is your first assignment?"

            "Something very simple.  Habasi has a friend who wants a diamond.  Any diamond will do.  Habasi believes that Nalcarya of the White Haven has diamonds in her shop.  Bring a diamond to Habasi, and she will reward you."

            "Uh…okay…I guess."

            Oreotragus led Varansaur out of the door, across the river, and up the street.  "Nalcarya", he told Varansaur, "is an Altmer, and the local alchemist around here.  Habasi told me.  Her shop is usually guarded, so I'll tell you some of the tricks of the trade now, before we get inside.  In Vvardenfell, it is perfectly legal to look, as long as you do not touch.  This includes looking inside containers, so long as the containers aren't locked, and you don't visibly remove somebody else's stuff.  If nobody can see you, take what's inside, even if it's not what you came for.  You can usually sell it.  The shopkeepers don't keep records of their customers, so if you get rid of the stuff before anyone notices it's gone, you'll get away…as long as you don't try to sell it back to the person you stole it from in the first place."

            "I'm not sure I like this.  You know _way_ too much."

            "Like I told you, Habasi gave me a briefing before I left for Cosades' house.  She saw great potential in me, especially after I lifted all the silver from the Census and Excise Office in Seyda Neen."

            "That was you?  But, Sottilde was supposed to steal that stuff."

            "Well obviously I didn't know that at the time."

            "What about the plate?  And the crab meat?  And the dagger?  And the lockpick?  Why did you leave that stuff behind?"

            Oreotragus pulled up his sleeve.  "Look at this arm.  Do you honestly think I could've carried everything in that room?  I had more than enough to buy a silt strider ticket, and a nice Cold One.  But enough chitchat…we're here."

            Casually, Oreotragus and Varansaur slipped inside the shop in front of them.

            And because they were in the shop, they didn't see what else was going on in Balmora at that moment.

Sorry that this chapter is only three pages, Anneke.  I'm a little impatient to get my writing onto the web.  I'm afraid you'll have to deal with a lot of short-ish chapters.

Keep reviewing, my devoted fans!


	10. Fast Eddie

To Dano the Overlander(): Uh…okay…that's very nice.  I'm not sure what that has to do with my story, but, okay.  (By the way, are you aware that your first review about your character was sent to me eighty-five times?  Oddly enough, it only shows up in the review database once.)  Since you shared your Morrowind character, it's only fair that I share mine.  Actually, I have two.  They are, you guessed it, Oreotragus and Varansaur.  Varansaur stayed in Vvardenfell to take care of Dagoth Ur and Sjoring Hard-Heart, and stuff like that.  Oreotragus went on to Solstheim and dealt with the Bloodmoon prophecies.  (No, this isn't necessarily a spoiler of how my story will turn out)

Anneke, you depress me.  I haven't heard from you in a while.

Who do I own?  Do you even need to ask?

Chapter 10

Nobody noticed the well-dressed Dunmer man walking down the street on the eastern side of Balmora.  Nobody seemed to notice as he stopped in front of one of the houses.  He looked around quickly, and then lightly rapped on the door with his knuckles in a rhythmic manner.  The door opened slightly, and the man darted inside.

            "You certainly got here quickly." Caius Cosades said.

            The Dunmer played with a gold coin on his fingers.  "They don't call me 'Fast Eddie' for nothin'."

            "Yeah.  Anyway, the reason I called you was to inform you that the Emperor is at it again."

            "What?  You mean…?"

            "Yes.  He thinks he has found someone else who fulfills the prophecy.  But this time, I think he's getting a little senile in his old age."

            "Why?"

            "He sent two of them."

            "But…but the prophecy clearly states…"

            "Yes.  I know.  That's why I want to make sure that the Emperor knows what he's doing."  He handed Eddie a small, folded piece of paper.  "I want you to deliver this message to the Emperor at once.  Take it straight to the inter-provincial post office in Pelagiad.  Do not stop for anything.  That includes that Breton woman."

            "All right." Eddie said, turning to leave.

            "And that Nord woman."

            "Fine."

            "And that Bosmer woman."

            "All right, already!  I get it!"  Eddie tucked the letter into his shirt and slipped out the door.  When it closed behind him, he chuckled and said; "Good thing he doesn't know about the Redguard woman."

            Some unspecified period of time later, Edd "Fast Eddie" Theman was en route to Pelagiad.  Out of sheer boredom, he took the letter out of his pocket.

            "This letter can't be _that_ urgent." Eddie said to himself.  "He didn't even seal it."

            While he was looking at the paper in his hand, Eddie failed to notice the bush behind him move.  He also failed to notice the shirtless Dunmer man emerge from it.  He had a red beard that looked as though it had never been shaved in his life, and his left eye was almost completely swollen shut.  He wasn't wearing any clothes, except for a ratty pair of brown pants, and a spiked club in his right hand.  He slowly snuck up behind Eddie and hit him very hard on the head with the club.  Eddie dropped the letter, swayed on the spot for a few seconds, sunk to his knees, and passed out.

            "So, what is so important for the Emperor to find out about?"  The shirtless man opened the letter.  He was immediately vexed.

            "What does VC ZIV QGUH MSWIROSV MDNWUHQ EPTWTCJ UUMWN GWPWME VVW SHZWPHA mean?"

            At that moment, a door hidden in a nearby clifffside burst open.  A man walked out and headed towards Eddie's assailant.  Well, maybe man wouldn't be the right word.  He had no recognizable mouth, but instead had a short trunk.  He was wearing a robe that was the exact same shade of grey as his skin.

            "Give me that!" he snapped, snatching the letter from the shirtless man's hand.  "Your job was to get the letter from the messenger.  I will take it from here."  He looked at the letter for a second.  "What the hell does VC ZIV MSWIROSV MDNWUHQ EPTWTCJ UUMWN GWPWME VVW SHZWPHA mean?"

            "That's what I was wondering.  I think it's some sort of Imperial code."

            "Am I going mad, or did I just hear the word "think" escape your swollen, decaying lips?"

            "Well…"

            "Nobody below my rank, Ash Ghoul, is permitted to think, you seething diseased land mass.  I could convince Dagoth Ur to remove the disease from you, and turn you back into a regular barbarian again.  And then where would you be?  Friendless, helpless, hopeless…brainless…"

            "Is it really necessary to have so many blatant movie references?"

            "What's a movie?"

            "I don't know.  I thi…that is, it must be a hallucination set on by this flesh-eating disease that our lord Dagoth Ur so generously gave me."

            "As he says, all will come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh.  But first, let's go back into the shrine, where it's dark, and try to break this code."

            ***          *          ***

Several hours later, Eddie woke up.

            "What?  Where am I?  Why does my head hurt so badly?"

            Still trying to make his vision stop swirling around in his head, Eddie stumbled over to the sign at the fork in the road.  "I must be somewhere between Balmora and Pelagiad.  But…oh…yes, it's all coming back to me…Caius Cosades asked me to deliver this letter to the…" He put his hand in his shirt to remove the letter, but of course, it wasn't there.

            "No!  This isn't right!"  He checked all his other pockets.  "I still have all of my gold…and my nice clothes…whoever robbed me didn't take anything except the letter!  Why the letter?  What sort of bandit would be so stupid as to steal a letter he can't even read, and nothing else, from an unconscious man!?"

            "I saw what happened."

            Eddie spun around, and saw a man standing behind him.  He was wearing a full set of chitin armor, complete with a helm that enclosed his entire head.

            "My name is Modo Necahe.  I am an Ashlander savant.  I was passing by, when I saw the barbarian ambush you.  I'm not sure why he only took the letter.  Barbarians aren't famous for being intelligent.  Anyway, I tracked him down, got your letter back, and am giving it back to you."  He handed the letter to Eddie, who mumbled a thanks and ran off towards Pelagiad.

            "People can be so gullible." Necahe said, as he took off his helmet, revealing that his left eye was almost completely swollen shut.

            "Well?" said the Ash Ghoul, appearing at his side.

            "I did just as you said.  I disguised myself as an Ashlander, used an assumed name, and gave him the copy you made of his letter."

            "Good.  I will make sure that our lord Dagoth Ur has your disease progress to the Ash state, rather than the Corprus state.  One of these days, you just might become an Ascended Sleeper.  But in the meantime, we shall see if one of my superiors can make any sense of this letter."

Review!  And please, don't send a review more than once.


	11. This Hell Hole they Call a Town

To Darkangel546: Frankly, I'm not that surprised.  We _are_ talking about the same site that sent me the exact same review _eighty-five stinkin' times!!!_

To Anneke Xannon Shallot: I just got your review for my "Project IAGO" story.  I'm still trying to figure out exactly what you said.

The disclaimer has been intentionally omitted.

Chapter 11

            "I think I'm going to be sick."

            "Why?  You just pulled off an actual diamond heist!  You're officially one of us now!"

            "I know.  That's why I feel sick."

            "Are you sure it wasn't all those alchemy ingredients you ate in her shop?"

            Varansaur looked at Oreotragus.  He was really starting to dislike this elf.  "Okay, mister 'I-know-everything-and-you-don't'.  Now it's _my_ turn to sign us up for a faction.  And you don't get any say in the matter."

            "Why do we even have to stick together?"

            "Because you're a pirate and a murderer."

"Oh, come on.  I kill a few dozen people and sell off a couple million septims worth of stolen merchandise, and you treat me as though I'm some kind of criminal."

"Uh…yeah.  I am not letting you run loose on your own."

            "Are trying to say that you see yourself as my _babysitter_?"

            "More or less."

            Oreotragus pulled his fist back, just as a guard in bonemold armor came around a corner.

            "Excuse me, gentlemen.  Is there a problem?"

            "No sir," Varansaur said.  "We're just trying to decide what would be a good way to make a name for ourselves.  My friend here jokingly suggested we mug people," he pulled his fist back, the way Oreotragus had done, "but I was thinking of a more…legal method."

            "Well, if you want to know the real way to get a reputation in a hurry…join a great house."

            "A what?"

            "A long time ago, all of the Dunmer in Morrowind belonged to one of seven houses.  Today, only three of them remain: Hlaalu, Redoran, and Telvanni.  House Hlaalu would be your best bet.  We're loyal to the Empire, and are pretty lenient about who we let in.  House Redoran is loyal to the Temple, and tends to abide by somewhat antiquated traditions.  Outlanders would be advised to steer clear of House Telvanni.  The majority of the house is comprised of millennia-old wizards who have nothing better to do than live in giant, mushroom-shaped towers with no stairs and study the most arcane magics that ever existed.  They tend not to like Outlanders, such as yourselves."

            "What are their specialties?"

            ""House Hlaalu is a merchant house.  They're all about profit." Oreotragus' eyes lit up.  "Redoran lives for the glory of battle.  Telvanni only lets seasoned mages join their ranks."

            "House Hlaalu it is, then." Varansaur said.  "Come on!"

            "You know," Oreotragus said, as he and Varansaur left for the House Hlaalu manor, located just on the other side of the street from Nalcarya's shop, "for a while, I was a bit iffy about you choosing the faction we joined.  But now that you've decided on House Hlaalu, I think maybe I should hang out with you more often."

            *          *          *

            "So, you want to join House Hlaalu, eh?"

            The majority of the occupants of the Balmora Hlaalu Council Manor were Dunmer.  Chief among them was Nileno Dorvayn, an aging woman in a green robe.  She wasn't particularly imposing (except to Oreotragus who, being a Bosmer male, was the shortest person in the room), but she still created an eerie presence when she spoke.

            "Well…" Varansaur fumbled for words "that is…my friend…we…"

            "This is a simple 'yes-or-no' question."

            "In that case, yes."

            "I see.  So…why?"

            "Why?"

            "Why do you think you're House Hlaalu material?"

            "Uh…well, I…what I mean is…"

            Oreotragus turned to Varansaur.  "You are such a wimp."

            Dorvayn started.  "Wait a minute.  Say that again."

            Any fear Varansaur had for Dorvayn vanished on the spot, and was replaced with utter confusion.  "What?"

            "I want to hear him say something else.  Anything, really."

            "Uh…okay.  I am the feared pirate, Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued.  I am wanted in all parts of Valenwood for serial robbery and the murders of thirt-" 

Varansaur elbowed him in the ribs.

"Yes.  That's perfect.  Golden-Tongued, did you say?  How appropriate."

"What do you mean?"

"Your voice, my friend, sounds exactly like…"

"The kind of guy that you might want to introduce to a twenty-something year-old daughter of yours?" Oreotragus said, as he slicked back his spiked hair.

"Wha…no!"

"The kind of guy that you might want to introduce to the twenty-something year-old daughter of a friend of yours?"

"No!"

"Every other male Bosmer you have ever met in your entire life?" Varansaur offered.

"No!!!  Well…yes.  But specifically, I was thinking of Felsen Sethandus."

"That's not a Bosmer name."

"He was raised by Dunmer.  He was a high-ranking member of House Redoran, who died recently, due to…mysterious circumstances.  But House Redoran doesn't know this yet.  I want you, Oreotragus, to impersonate Felsen Sethandus and get some important orders for me.  If you can do this, I will allow both of you to join House Hlaalu."

Varansaur gave Dorvayn a suspicious look.  "Is that legal?"

"Who cares?  House Hlaalu is a bit like the Thieves' Guild.  We both believe that unnecessary killing makes for a bad P.R.  We're both in it for the profit, and aren't going to let something like the law stand as a barrier.  Ironically, we also hire guards to uphold the laws.  Go figure."

"So, I impersonate Felsen Sethandus for you, and get these orders, and you let us join?"

"Exactly.  Go find Neminda.  She should be in the Redoran Council Building in Ald'ruhn.  Go talk to her, and use the code phrase "Orphan of Arnesia.  She should give you some important orders to deliver.  Deliver them to me, instead."

"All right."  Oreotragus turned to leave.

"Wait!" Dorvayn called.  She tossed a helmet in Oreotragus' direction.  "Wear this.  We don't want Neminda to realize that you aren't who you say you are.  This type of helmet is only worn by important Redoran soldiers.

***          *          ***

"So, why did we have to take the silt strider to Ald'ruhn?"

"Because the walk would be likely to get us killed.  I've heard that there are nix-hounds on the road between Ald-ruhn and Balmora.  I have a dagger, and you have a sword.  We may be able to fight off a nix-hound, but if the stories are true about them traveling in packs, we probably wouldn't have made it.  There was another, cheaper method of safe travel, but it would have required us to join the Mages' Guild."

"And now, we are passing the city of Caldera.  Caldera is a recently chartered Imperial town and mining corporation. The Caldera Mining Company has been granted an Imperial monopoly to remove raw ebony from the rich deposits here. Caldera has the appearance and flavor of a Western Imperial town."

"Is there some clause in the contract you sign when you become silt strider operators that forces you to point out every single thing we pass along the way?" Varansaur groaned, remembering now why he had been hesitant to take the silt strider in the first place.

The silt strider operator looked at Varansaur.  "Your name isn't Varansaur, by any chance, is it?"

"What?  Me?  No.  My name is…Gil-Shtek…and I have never seen Varansaur in my life.  Nor have I ever ridden a silt strider before now.  Especially not between Seyda Neen and Balmora."

The silt strider operator narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, and returned to his duty.  Oreotragus looked at his companion.  "You are a horrible liar.  That is something we will need to correct if you ever want to get anywhere in the Thieves' Guild, or House Hlaalu."

"You're in House Hlaalu?"

Oreotragus and Varansaur turned around, to see a heavily-armored Imperial man seated behind them.

"I feel I should warn you two.  The Hlaalu hierarchy is greatly influenced by the Camonna Tong.  Fortunately, Duke Vedam Dren is in charge of House Hlaalu.  He's an okay guy.  But his brother Orvas is…"

"A low-life criminal who probably couldn't tell the difference between a woman and a guar and plays 'drag queen' in women's undergarments with dark gods?" Varansaur offered.

"Well, that's one way of putting it.  But here's my advice: as you advance in ranks, stay away from anyone in House Hlaalu who seems corrupt in any way.  Crassius Curio is…I can't believe I'm saying this…probably your safest bet."

"Why can't you believe you're saying that?"

"Curio was just released from prison for numerous accounts of sexual assault.  He may be a sick, perverted freak, but he's not corrupt in any way."

"You seem to not like the Camonna Tong.  I'm Varansaur."

"Oreotragus."

"Percius Mercius, of the Ald'Ruhn branch of the Fighters' Guild.  And yes, I greatly dislike the Camonna Tong.  They have ruined all that was once good in Vvardenfell, including my own guild."

"And now, we are arriving at Ald'ruhn.  Ald'ruhn is the district seat of House Redoran, and a large settlement. Most citizens are Dunmer, most are House Redoran members or followers. The Redoran Council chambers and Redoran manors are up north inside the shell of an ancient extinct giant crab. Most of the cornerclubs, merchants, and guildhalls are on the southwest and central part of town. Ald'ruhn Temple is to the east. Fort Buckmoth, the Legion garrison, is south of town, outside the town wall."

"This is my stop.  I wish you two luck in your future endeavors."

"We're getting off here, too.  We have important business to conduct."

Oreotrgus stepped off of the silt strider, only to be hit in the face with a blinding dust storm.

"Hey…what the hell?"

"Oh yeah," the silt strider operator said, as he leaned out of the cockpit.  "I forgot to tell you.  Ald'ruhn is very close to Red Mountain, a volcano in the center of the island.  Every now and then, a storm like this rolls down from the crater.  It's a pity.  This used to be such a nice town."

"I'm sure it was." Varansaur said, looking as best he could through the storm at the buildings, which bore a resemblance to melted skulls."

"If I heard correctly," Mercius shouted over the wind, "you said you were also in the Thieves' Guild.  I'd suggest waiting in The Rat in the Pot, just over there in the corner.  That's where the Ald'ruhn branch of the Thieves' Guild is stationed.  Since you're members, they should let you stay there until the storm dies down."

"Thanks!" Varansaur called, as Mercius trudged, head down, towards one of the skull-buildings.

"This storm doesn't look like it's going to let up any time soon." Oreotragus said.  "I'm afraid we may be stuck spending the night in this hell-hole they call a town."

Sorry it took me so long.  Review!


	12. Poker Night!

Just a second. Bethesda Softworks is on the phone. Something about a lawsuit for omitting the disclaimer in my last chapter.

Chapter 12

Dagoth Ur looked over the top of his cards. He had invited several other gods over to his volcano for Poker Night. Seated at Dagoth Ur's right was a god wearing a bone mask with antlers. Next to him, there was an elf-like god who sported the snout and tusks of a pig. At the other end of the table was a god with a reptilian head and a long, scaly tail. To his right was a god with four arms. Finishing up this motley cru was a god who looked almost exactly like a well-dressed Dunmer man with no hair.

"Hey!" the reptile-headed god shouted. "Dagoth Ur, get your feet off the table!"

"Don't tell me what to do, Molag Bal. It's my house."

The snouted god sighed heavily. "Why do we always have to play at your place, Dagoth Ur?"

"What's wrong with my place?"

"Well, it reeks of rotting flesh, it's hotter than Hell, I can scarcely breathe, and you have terrible roommates." The snouted god pointed at several diseased people, dragging their swollen limbs behind them.

"Yes, but I have the best snacks. Besides, if you guys can think of a way for me to actually physically leave my prison and go to where you guys live, please let me know."

"When you are able to leave, we should have our first game at my glacier," said the antlered god.

"Yeah," Molag Bal said, sarcastically. "That would be _such _an improvement. Poker Night at Hircine's place. Those pet werewolves of yours are _so_ fun to play with."

"It was just a suggestion." Hircine said, burying his face in his cards.

The gods rearranged their cards. "So, Dagoth Ur." Molag Bal said. "How's eternal life been treating you?"

"Well, let's see. I have been trapped inside a Dwarven ruin in the crater of a volcano for several thousand years, my only company being a mass of victims of a flesh-eating disease I created, and the only thing that can get me out of here is in the custody of Vivec. How do you _think_ it's been treating me? But I'm sure _your_ life has been just peachy."

"Hardly." Molag Bal grunted. "My daughter, Molag Grunda, ran off with that infernal boyfriend of hers."

"What, you mean Nomeg Gwai?" the well-dressed god said. "I thought you liked him."

"No. Molag _Grunda_ likes him. Molag _Bal_ hates his guts."

"Do frost atronachs even _have _guts?" Hircine asked.

Molag Bal glowered at Hircine. "You know what I mean."

"I may be able to leave this infernal volcano soon, though." Dagoth Ur said. "Just before you guys arrived, one of my Ash Ghouls delivered me this letter. It was meant for the Emperor, but he intercepted it and made a copy. I promoted him for this. He is now Dagoth Gares, and is in control of one of our top bases, Ilunibi."

"What does the letter say?" the well-dressed god asked.

"I'm not sure." Dagoth Ur unfolded the letter. "It looks like utter Gibberish to me. But I think it may have something to do with…the prophecies!"

"Let me see that." The well-dressed god took the letter from Dagoth Ur. "This looks like madness. But there is a method to it. Fortunately, I am Sheogorath, god of madness. Let's see…" He studied the letter for a few minutes, and then said; "Yep. Apparently, the Emperor sent two people who he thinks may fulfill the prophecies."

"But…the prophecies clearly state that there can only be _one_…"

"Yes," Sheogorath continued. "That is why this letter was written. The head of the Blades is wondering if the Emperor is in his right mind, so he sent this letter to inquire why he would send _two_ potential candidates."

"I think one of them may be the real deal this time." The four-armed god said. "Azura has been really excited about something lately."

"I _knew_ it!" Dagoth Ur shouted, slamming his hand on the table. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking at what he was doing, and one of his claws pierced the deck of cards.

"Oh, perfect!" the four-armed god shouted. "Nice going, Dagoth Ur. That was the third deck we've lost this month!"

"Stop yelling at me, Mehrunes Dagon! Those first two weren't _my _fault. It was Molag Bal who sneezed on the first deck and set it on fire. And it wasn't my fault that Sheogorath decided to eat all of the face cards in the second deck."

"I was hungry!" Sheogorath whined. "Those snacks were taking forever to get here. You really shouldn't have had an Ascended Sleeper serve us. They may be super-powerful, but they are also so weighed down by all that muscle, it probably would've been more efficient to have a scamp serve us."

Dagoth Ur laid his cards on the table.

"I'll see your blight storm," Hircine said, laying down his own cards, "and raise you a lycanthropy."

"Ha!" Sheogorath shouted. "You've all fallen into my trap! I'm putting everything I've got on this!" With that, he slid all of his chips into the center of the table and threw down his cards.

Mehrunes Dagon looked over at Sheogorath's hand. "Sheogorath…you have a pair of twos."

"You're cheating, Sheogorath!" the snouted god shouted.

"Oh? And what makes you so sure, Malacath?"

"Because you already played a pair of twos in the last three hands!"

"Sheogorath," Dagoth Ur said, "are you mad?"

"Duh! Why?"  
"Why would you bet everything on a pair of twos?"

Sheogorath shrugged. "You can win on a pair of twos."

"But I have the Trifecta! Fire, Famine, and Flood! It's almost impossible to beat me with a measly pair of twos!"

*** * ***

Dagoth Ur sat on the edge of his bed, studying his one remaining poker chip. "I can't believe Sheogorath beat me with a measly pair of twos."

Obscure. Bizarre. Review!


	13. A Little Shein Goes a Long Way

Okay, the lawsuit from Bethesda Softworks, the true owners of Morrowind, was a false alarm.

Oh, and I'm accepting anonymous reviews again.

Chapter 13

            The Rat in the Pot was a surprisingly decent building, compared with the city outside.  It was well-lit, and even had several potted fire ferns growing in boxes along the walls.  Varansaur and Oreotragus walked up the stairs, where the bar was located.  A male Khajiit and two Dunmer were seated on a stool at the bar.  A young Breton woman in a blue robe stood behind the counter, polishing glasses.  The decent look of the building faded as Varansaur noticed that the rag she was using to clean the glasses was dirtier than the glasses themselves.

            "Evening, boys" she said when she noticed Oreotragus leaning on the counter.  "What'll it be?"

            "Whaddya got for a pair of thirsty Guild members?" Oreotragus asked.

            "We've got mazte, greef, shein, and sujamma."

            Oreotragus and Varansaur looked at each other.  "What?"

            The Breton put four bottles on the counter.  "Mazte" she said, pointing at the brown bottle.  "Saltrice beer.  Leaves you feeling weak-willed, but powerful."

            She pointed at the blue bottle.  "Greef.  Comberry brandy.  Makes you feel strong, but clumsy."

            She pointed at the white bottle.  "This stuff is shein.  It's a lot like greef, but it's brewed slightly differently.  It makes you feel tough, but not too smart."

            She gestured to the final, yellow bottle.  "And this stuff is sujamma.  It's a local Dunmer liquor.  Has a kick like a guar—very strong, and just as stupid.  I'm not sure exactly what it's made of.  Hey, Thadar!"

            The grey-haired Dunmer man at the end of the counter looked up from his cup.  "Yeah?"

            "Any idea what sujamma is made out of?"

            Thadar gave a half-drunk chuckle.  "I don't think anyone knows what sujamma's made out of."  He sniffed the cup in his hand, which contained some viscous, brown liquid.  "If I had to guess, I would say…" he took a sip "…fermented Bungler's Bane."

            "So," the Breton said, turning back to Oreotragus, "there's your choices.  Name yer poison."

            "Let's see," Varansaur said, leaning against a table, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  "I can be strong and flaky, strong and clumsy, strong and stupid, or…strong and stupid!  How will I _ever_ decide?"

            "If you don't want anything," Oreotragus said, "why don't you find out who's in charge and get some more jobs for us?"

            "That would be Aengoth the Jeweler" the Breton said, pointing at another staircase at the edge of the room.  "He's in the basement."

            Varansaur went downstairs, as Oreotragus sat down and ordered a bottle of shein.

            Downstairs, Varansaur saw what was apparently an extension of the bar.  It had tables and shelves laden with bottles and cups.  At one of the tables, a Bosmer man was deep in conversation with a Dunmer.

            "I'm telling you, Aengoth," the Dunmer said, "you will never find anyone you can convince to do this!"

            "What are you talking about?" the Bosmer replied.

            "I'm no guild member," the Dunmer said, taking a sip from whatever was in his cup, "but I do know that no thief is stupid enough to try and rob the Mages' Guild!"

            "I think I know somebody," Varansaur said, stepping forward.

            Aengoth spun around in his seat.  "Who are you?"

            "Varansaur, new guild member."

            Aengoth took Varansaur's hand.  "Aengoth the Jeweler.  You say you know someone stupid enough to rob the Mages' Guild?"

            Varansaur cast a quick glance at the staircase behind him.  "Yeah.  My partner, Oreotragus, is at the bar upstairs."  _Wait a minute_, Varansaur thought to himself.  _Did I just call Oreotragus my "partner?"_

            "Are you _sure_ he's stupid enough to try this?" Aengoth asked.

            The Khajiit man who was seated at the bar came downstairs, rather quickly.  "Never in all Dro'Tasarr's life has he seen such behavior."  He pointed at Varansaur.  "The elf you came here with just drank two bottles of shein in 45 seconds."

            Aengoth stroked his short beard thoughtfully.  "All right, Varansaur.  Take me to this friend of yours."

            "He is not my friend." Varansaur said out of the side of his mouth.  "He is my partner."

            "Whatever.  Just take me to him."

            So, Varansaur led Aengoth upstairs.  When they got there, they both felt their mouths drop open.  Oreotragus and the barmaid were laughing, as though they had been close friends for years.

            Oreotragus put a hand on the bar to steady himself.  "And then he says 'Okay, mister "I-know-everything-and-you-don't".  Now it's _my_ turn to sign us up for a faction.  And you don't get any say in the matter,' like he's this big tough guy."  The two laughed again.  "So then I say…"

            Varansaur stood right behind Oreotragus and cleared his throat very loudly.  Oreotragus turned around and saw the Argonian standing over him, looking very tall all of a sudden.

            "Oh, hey there, Varansaur. (hic) Where have you been?"

            Varansaur's eyes were barely more than slits as he pointed at Aengoth and said "This man wants to talk to you."

            Oreotragus' head turned slowly to Aengoth, still keeping the same stupid alcohol-induced grin.  "Oh.  Hi."

            "Yeah…" Aengoth said, slowly.  "I have a job for you, at the Ald'ruhn Mages' Guild…"

            "Mages' Guild!" Oreotragus shouted, standing up, knocking his stool over, pointing at the air.  "I'm off!"  With that, he marched towards the door.

            "Just a minute!" Aengoth shouted, as he and Varansaur grabbed Oreotragus by the arms.

            "What are you doing?" Oreotragus moaned.  "Let me go!"

            "Have you looked outside lately?" Aengoth asked, opening the door.  He held the door open for a few seconds, which was long enough to be covered in red dust.  "We've already had three guards in this city hospitalized from being out in this mess.  I'm gonna have to insist that you stay here until this blows over."

            "Oh, come on!" Oreotragus said.  "I can take it."

            "No," Aengoth said.  "You just think you're tougher than you are, and there's too much shein in your bloodstream for you to listen to reason."

            In an instant, Oreotragus' sword was at Aengoth's throat.  "You sayin' I'm weak?"

            "I…"

            "Come on!" Oreotragus shouted, dashing up the stairs, waving his sword over his head.  "I'll take you all on!  I'll pulverize every single one of you!  I'll…"

            Varansaur nonchalantly pressed his thumb to the side of Oreotragus' neck.  The elf dropped his sword and slowly sank to his knees.

            "You." Varansaur said, taking Oreotragus by the sleeve.  "Bed.  Now."  _I swear_ he thought, as he led Oreotragus downstairs to the bedrooms.  _I'm starting to think that the Emperor sent me specifically to be his babysitter._

Reviews, please.


	14. A REALLY Long Way

Uh…I really don't have anything to say.  Nope.

Chapter 14

            Varansaur opened his eyes with a start.  He was back in Black Marsh.  Had it all been an unusually vivid dream?  He looked up.  Criona, Imesh-Ma, and Ej-Friekhas were all standing over him.  He stood up, ran towards them, and…

            Imesh-Ma suddenly lifted into the air.  As Varansaur watched in horror, he realized that she was stuck to the end of Orvas Dren's spear.  Ranes Ienith lopped off Criona's head with a sword, and Navil Ienith slit Ej-Friekhas' throat with a strange green dagger.  Varansaur turned to Vedam Dren, who was standing behind him.

            Vedam shrugged.  "I can't do anything."

            Vedam Dren was then replaced by a blue woman.  She had a long dress and was semi-transparent.  "Fear not," she said, in the same voice Varansaur had heard in his dream on the prison ship.  "Fear not, for I am watchful.  You have been chosen."

            "Chosen for what?" Varansaur demanded.  "Why are you bothering me?"

            "I have to," the blue woman said, only now she was speaking with a Breton accent.  "I need to show you something."

            "What, you mean my friends being brutally murdered?"

            "Wha…no.  You're dreaming.  Wake up!"

            Varansaur snapped out of the dream.  He was in the dark bedroom at the Rat in the Pot.  

            "Who's there?"

            The Breton barmaid stepped into the moonlight.  "It's me.  Lirielle Stoine, the barmaid."

            "Oh no!" Varansaur suddenly remembered.  "I dozed off!  I was supposed to be keeping watch, and make sure Oreotragus didn't do anything stupid!"

            "I'm afraid it's too late," Stoine said, taking Varansaur's hand.  She handed him a strip of red cloth.  "Wrap this around your face."  She put a pointed chitin helmet on her head, one that enclosed her entire face.  "You should probably see this."

            She led Varansaur outside.  The dust storm was raging just as fiercely as before.  Aengoth, Thadar, and Dro'Tasarr were already outside, wearing various forms of protection against the storm.  All of them were looking up at the roof of the building.  Varansaur was afraid to look up.  He was afraid to see what was up there.  He thought he had a good idea.  He glanced up, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was absolutely right.

            "I'll take on any contender!"  Oreotragus shouted from the chimney, swinging his sword in huge circles.

            "What is he doing?" Varansaur asked.

            "He came up in the middle of the night and drained another three bottles of shein in only a minute." Stoine replied.  "After that, he picked up a soup spoon and said he was going to use it to fight one of the Daedra!"

            Varansaur cocked his head.  "The Daedra?"

            "The Daedra were the ancient gods." Stoine explained.  "Only seven are still widely worshipped, and only three of those cults are permitted by the Tribunal Temple to exist.  Anyone caught openly worshipping Malacath, Sheogorath, Molag Bal, or Mehrunes Dagon are severely persecuted.  Worshipping Azura, Boethiah, or Mephala are tolerated, but still seen as a false religion."

            A guard in slightly different bonemold armor than those in Balmora joined the crowd of onlookers.  "What is that s'wit doing up there?  He's disturbing the peace, and creating a danger to himself."

            "I have absolutely no idea." Varansaur said.  "If I were you, I'd arrest him for public intoxication, just in case."

            "Sorry," the guard said, "but there's no section in the Morrowind penal code covering intoxication.  If he hasn't attacked, killed, or robbed anyone, we can't have him arrested."

            "I can take all comers!" Oreotragus shouted.  "Not even the strongest sorcerer could bring me down!"

            Varansaur's attention was diverted by the arrival of the final attractee to Oreotragus' antics.  It looked vaguely like a bird, but it had pointed wings and no visible legs.  As it got closer, Varansaur noticed that it also had a third wing on top of its body and a fourth on the bottom, presumably to act as a rudder; a huge beak, designed for snatching largish prey; and a needle-sharp barb on the end of its long tail.  Varansaur recognized it as the dragon-like creature from his dream on the slave ship.

            "Sweet mother of the gods!" Varansaur shouted.  "What is that thing?"

            Stoine looked in the general direction that Varansaur was pointing.  "Oh no.  That's a cliff racer!  If we don't get some archers out here, he's doomed!"

            The cliff racer snapped its beak ominously and flattened its third and fourth wings against its body, to reduce wind resistance.  Varansaur tried to call out to Oreotragus, but his voice was lost as the wind chose that moment to shift direction.  The cliff racer was taken by surprise, lost control, and spun headlong into Oreotragus.  The elf staggered forwards, and had to jump off the chimney, but managed to stay on the roof.

            "So," he said, pointing his sword about three inches to the cliff racer's left.  "Do you choose to accept my challenge…uh…what is your name?"

            "Krekkekakaa!" the cliff racer replied.

            "Krekkekakaa?" Oreotragus said.  "I like that.  It works well for you."

            Stoine shook her head.  "That was its hunting cry, you moron!"

            "It's Hunting Cry You Moron." Oreotragus said.  "Well, that's certainly easier to pronounce, although not the most flattering name.  So, do you choose to accept my challenge or not?"

            The cliff racer answered by stabbing Oreotragus in the shoulder with its tail barb.

            "Wait!" Oreotragus shouted.  "I wasn't ready yet!"

            To which the cliff racer responded by pounding its beak into Oreotragus' face.  The elf leaned backwards, lost his footing, and slid off the roof, landing face-first in the dirt.

            "I'm okay!" he called, without bothering to get up.

            The cliff racer looked at the group of people on the ground, debating whether or not to go in for the kill.  When the guard pulled a mace from his belt, the bird apparently decided that it could find food elsewhere.  It opened its wings and let the wind carry it out of the city.  Oreotragus got up, just in time to see it disappear over the city walls.

            "Ha!" he shouted.  "You see?  He got a few good hits in, but I vanquished my foe!"

            "No," the guard said, "it pushed you off the roof, and then left because it decided not to eat you."

            "Yeah," Oreotragus said, "because I was too tough for it!"

            Varansaur let him gloat for a few more seconds, before quickly pressing his thumb to the side of Oreotragus' neck again.  The elf sank like a stone.

            Varansaur scooped Oreotragus up in his arms.  He turned to Stoine and said; "You don't, by any chance, have any way for me to, say, chain him to the bed, do you?"

            "No, but I do have a potion I made out of ruby extract and bittergreen petals.  If I serve it to him in an empty shein bottle, it should help him sober up pretty quickly."


	15. Let's Get that Silliness Out of the Way

To Dano the Overlander: The word trifecta means (exact quote from dictionary.com here): "A system of betting in which the bettor must pick the first three winners in the correct sequence. Also called **triple**."  Dagoth Ur drew the trifecta, and he _still_ lost to Sheogorath's pair of twos.

Chapter 15

            The next morning, once Oreotragus had gotten over his hangover, he had a brief talk with Aengoth.

            "I'm willing to let last night's incidents slide," Aengoth said, "but only because you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing.  But future stunts like those could result in your expulsion from the Thieves' Guild.  Do I make myself clear?"

            "Yes sir," Oreotragus mumbled, looking at the floor.

            "Good.  Now that we have that taken care of, I have a job for you.  The Mages' Guild in Ald'Ruhn is currently vacant."

            Varansaur raised the ridge he had in place of an eyebrow.  "What does that have to do with a job?"

            "I'm getting to it.  The alchemist in the Ald'Ruhn Mages' Guild, Anareren, has a weapon of which one of our clients has grown jealous.  He has hired us to steal Anareren's Devil Tanto.  By a great coincidence, all members of the Ald'Ruhn Mages' Guild have been called away on business, and shouldn't be back until next week!"

            Oreotragus looked at Varansaur, and then at Aengoth.  "What could possibly require everyone in the Mages' Guild to leave for a week?"

            Aengoth shrugged.  "From what I gathered, something about vampires.  But since there's nobody there, there should be nobody to stop you.  You can have anything else you find in there.  Just as long as you bring me the tanto."

            "Question!" Varansaur said, raising his hand.  "What is a tanto?"

            "A tanto is a knife," Aengoth said, "designed specifically for combat.  It's an Akaviri weapon, and is the most frequently enchanted short blade."

            With a final word of "good luck" from Aengoth, Varansaur and Oreotragus set off towards the Mages' Guild.  It wasn't hard to find: back in the general direction of the silt strider sat the two largest of the melted skull buildings.  Each had a sign hanging over the door.  The one on the left was the one that they had seen Percius Mercius enter, so they knew that wasn't it.

            Oreotragus boldly opened the door to the Mages' Guild and stepped inside.  Varansaur, however, was a bit more cautious.

            "What's taking so long!?" Oreotragus called back.  "Let's…"

            "Wait," Varansaur said, holding up his hand.  He tentatively sniffed the air.  Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite place it.  The trama plant in the corner wasn't moving, the door on the far left end of the foyer was still closed, but something didn't seem quite right.

            That's when he noticed it.  A smell, vaguely reminiscent of burning air, the kind of smell produced when lightning strikes nearby.

            "Hit the dirt!" he shouted, tackling Oreotragus, just as a bolt of red magic shot over their heads, creating a scorch mark where it hit the wall.

            Varansaur and Oreotragus looked up to see a Breton man with light blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail coming up the stairs, his hands held in a spell casting stance.

            "I will give you thieves five seconds to get out of here, and I won't report you to the authorities."

            Oreotragus slowly stood up.  "What makes you think we're thieves?  We're just travelers, on our way to visit a friend of ours here in Ald-ruhn, and we thought we'd stop by the Mages' Guild on our way there to…"

            "The Mages' Guild announced that they were leaving the day before yesterday, and that the headquarters would be guarded until their return.  Everyone in Ald-ruhn got the announcement."

            "Yeah," said Varansaur, getting to his feet, "well maybe we were in Balmora the day before yesterday."

            "Maybe you were," the mage said, "or maybe you're just saying that to get me to leave you alone, and make off with the tanto that Anarenen saw somebody coveting last week!"  With that, he put his hands together and fired another bolt, hitting Oreotragus squarely in the chest.  The elf staggered backwards and tripped over a chest.

            "All right!" Oreotragus shouted, standing up again.  "That tears it!"  He cracked his knuckles, menacingly.  "Varansaur, take care of him."

            "What?  Why do _I_ have to take care of him?"

            "Because you didn't drink five bottles of shein last night." Oreotragus replied, clutching his stomach and dashing out the door.

            Varansaur and the mage stood there for a while, looking at each other.  Finally, the mage pulled a dagger from the pocket of his robe and charged Varansaur.  The Argonian pulled out his own dagger, and the two began to fight.  The match was very boring, consisting of each one blocking the other's blows at a very close range, all the time circling each other.  At last, Varansaur saw an opening and slashed.  The mage recoiled.  Varansaur slashed again!  And again!  And again!  After a brief slashing spree, Varansaur stepped back to see what he had done.  The mage's robe was now reduced to a few green rags hanging from his shoulders, but the mage himself was uninjured.

            "You are going to pay for that!" he shouted, tossing his dagger in the air and hitting Varansaur in the eyes with a green spell.

            "Aaah!" Varansaur cried.  "I can't see!"  He began stabbing blindly at the air.  The mage watched this amusing spectacle for a while, until he got bored.  He magically extracted his dagger from the rafters, wrapped his arm around Varansaur's upper torso, and held his dagger up to the Argonian's throat, just as the door burst open again.

            "Ahh," Oreotragus said, coming back inside.  "I feel much better now.  Hey Varansaur, have you taken care of him yet?"

            "What does it look like?" Varansaur responded, still struggling to free himself, still unable to see what was going on, although his vision was slowly starting to return.

            The mage released his hold on Varansaur and rushed at Oreotragus.  Varansaur's vision returned just in time to see Oreotragus thrust his sword at the mage.  The sword only grazed his leg; however, as it did so, a bolt of lightning flew from the blade and stuck the mage.  The mage stood there for a few seconds, his hair still smoldering, before he toppled to the ground, dead.

            Varansaur went over to Oreotragus.  "How…what…?"

            "Oh, this?  It's an iron sparksword.  Nice, huh?"

            Varansaur still found it hard to close his mouth.  "Where did you get that?  And, while we're on the subject, where did you get that robe?  Or those shoes?  Or that ridiculous hat?"

            "Well," Oreotragus said, "I was walking outside Seyda Neen, on my way to Balmora, when I heard this scream from somewhere above me.  I looked up and saw this man plummeting out of the sky!  He was killed on impact.  From what I gathered from the journal he had on him, he was a wizard named Tarhiel, who had invented these scrolls to give him the ability to jump clear across the island.  He had three of the scrolls with him, but after seeing what happened to him, I wasn't keen to try them out myself.  He was also wearing this robe, these shoes, and this, which isn't a hat."  He took the fur cap off of his head.  "It's a Colovian fur helmet."

            Varansaur examined the helmet.  "A helmet made out of fur.  Yeah," he said with feigned seriousness, "_that's_ practical."

            The rest of the trip to Ald-ruhn was rather uneventful.  Varansaur sold his iron dagger to a local weaponsmith and replaced it with the mage's dagger, which was made of silver.  Oreotragus and Varansaur presented the tanto to Aengoth; however, they had to present it in the chest in which it was being held, as they hadn't managed to get it unlocked.

            "So," Aengoth said, "how do you know it's in there?"

            "We were born under the sign of the tower," Oreotragus replied.  "It's enchanted.  We can smell it."

            After that, they received the orders from Neminda (Varansaur had to pose as Oreotragus' manservant to avoid suspicion), and brought them back to Nileno Dorvayn in Balmora.

            "Excellent!" she said, upon receiving the scroll.  "You may keep the helmet.  And you are now officially members of Great House Hlaalu.  Also, take these 500 drakes each.  Would you like some more orders now?"

            Oreotragus was too hypnotized by the large amount of gold in his hands to respond.

            "Not right now," said Varnasaur.  "We have some rather urgent matters to attend to."

            "I see.  Well, talk to me when you're ready."

            Varansaur led Oreotragus outside, in the general direction of Caius Cosades' house.  Oreotragus was still transfixed by the gold.

            "This is incredible!" Oreotragus whispered.  "Do you realize how many times I could pay off my tab at The Rat in the Pot with this?"

            "Worry about that later.  Right now, I want to see if Cosades has figured out what to do with us."

            *          *          *

            "So, have you figured out what to do with us?"

            Cosades looked at Varansaur, then at Oreotragus, and then at the papers in his hand.

            "Yes," he finally responded.  "The emperor felt that the two of you together would perform his duties much more efficiently than just one of you."

            "Great." Varansaur said.  "So, what are you going to have us do?"

            "First," Cosades said, "I want some information.  The man from whom I want this information is in the Balmora Fighters' Guild.  His name is Hasphat Antabolis.  Go talk to him.  Find out everything he knows about the sixth house cult."

            Varansaur wasn't sure why, but when Cosades said those last three words, all of the warmth in the room seemed to vanish completely.

            "Antabolis is a student of Morrowind history." Cosades said.  "You'll probably have to do some sort of favor before he gives you what you want.  Hopefully, it won't be too obscure or difficult."

            With a nod to Cosades, the two adventurers left for the Fighters' Guild, unaware of a distant voice saying; "And so, it has begun.  I can't wait to see how this turns out."


	16. Dwemer Puzzle Box

Oh, and Dano the Overlander()? I wouldn't go so far as to say that Oreotragus is like Johnny Knoxville.  When he's sober, he never does something stupid like that.

It's the owning, the owning. What, what, the owning.  And I don't own anybody.

Chapter 16

The Balmora Fighters' Guild seemed a perfectly normal place.  But Varansaur soon realized that this was because he was looking at an empty corner.  He turned into the foyer, where he saw a red-haired Nord woman in bonemold armor give what appeared to be a mangled, dead mudcrab to a bald, muscular Redguard man.  

            "My gods, Eydis!" the Redguard said.  "This used to be a mace!  What the hell did you do to this thing?"

            The Nord shrugged.  "I was visiting relatives back in Solstheim last month, Wayn, as you recall.  Those Rieklings have grown to be somewhat more than a nuisance."

            "Well," Wayn said, looking at the crumpled piece of metal in his hands, "I can try to fix it, but it would probably be easier, not to mention cheaper, for me to just go find you a new one."

            "Fine!  Whatever!  Just as long as I get a functional weapon.  It doesn't do any good to be in charge of the Balmora branch of the Fighters' Guild if I don't have any way to fight."

            "Excuse me," Varansaur said, stepping forward, "we're looking for a Hasphat Antabolis.  Do you have any idea where we might find him?"

            Eydis looked at the stairs behind her.  "He's downstairs, in our training room.  I suggest you stay close to the door when you get there."

            "Why?" Oreotragus asked.  "Is he…bad?"

            "No," Eydis said, casually shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "it's just…he has a tendency not to pay attention to what he's swinging at when he's practicing."

            Cautiously, Oreotragus and Varansaur crept downstairs, down a hall, and down another set of stairs, to another room.  The floor of the room was covered with mats, which were dotted with several suspicious-looking red stains.  Varansaur and Oreotragus only got a few seconds to look at the room, however, before a dark-haired Imperial woman came charging across the room with a spear held out in front of her.  The adventurers took a quick step back, as the woman drove her spear straight into the heart painted on a stuffed dummy hanging on the wall.

            An Imperial man with a squarish haircut approached her.  "So, you're not going to marry me because I can't do that?"

            The woman rolled her eyes.  "Hasphat, I never said you can't do that, and I never said I wouldn't marry you.  I just want to see how well you can protect me, should the need arise."

            The man sighed, pulled out an identical spear to the one she had used, and charged the dummy.  His spear point split the other spear straight down the middle.

            "There.  Happy now?"

            "Yep," the woman said, putting her arms around his shoulders.  "I don't believe anyone could beat that."

            Oreotragus gave Varansaur a sly look.  He pulled a chitin throwing star out from under his cuirass and gave it a toss.  The star spun around the room in a wide arc, before spinning straight down the shaft of Hasphat's spear, splitting it in half, and coming to rest squarely in the center of the two points.

            "Yep," Oreotragus said, stepping forward and retrieving the star, "I can be pretty unbelievable sometimes."

            "Lame," Varansaur said, entering the room.  He turned to the couple, still huddling in fear in the center of the room.  "You'll have to excuse my…acquaintance.  He's kind of...an imbecile."

            Oreotragus glared at Varansaur.  The Imperials were too busy cowering in fear to say anything.

            "I'm looking for a Hasphat Antabolis." Varansaur continued.

            The man slowly untangled himself from the woman.  "I…I'm…Hasphat…A…Antabolis…" he said, cautiously.  "And this is my fiancée, Flaenia Amiulusus."

            "Charmed," Varansaur said, extending his scaly hand, which Hasphat tentatively shook.  "I'm Varansaur, and this gibbering lunatic behind me is Oreotragus."

            Oreotragus raised his throwing star threateningly.

            "You throw that," Varansaur growled, without even looking behind him, "and I will make you swallow your own teeth."

            Oreotragus' already black eyes darkened, as he slipped the star back inside his cuirass, grumbling to himself.

            Hasphat looked at Varansaur and Oreotragus.  "Did Caius send you?"

            "Yes."

            "We can't talk here."

            Varansaur did a double-take.  "What?  Why?  Is this some very secret matter that some enemy might be listening to?"

            "No," Hasphat said, slowly turning pink.  "It's just…I don't want Eydis Fire-Eye to hear me talking about Morrowind history.  They always tease me for being a bookworm.  They always say 'If you want to study so badly, join the Mages' Guild.  If you want to be in the Fighters' Guild, you gotta fight.'  I don't want them to tease me again."

            "Okay," Oreotragus said, "what do _you_ propose we do?"

            "Hmmm…" Hasphat paced the room for a minute, deep in thought, until the answer came to him.  "I know!  I'll tell Eydis that you two are old friends of mine, and that we're going out for a drink, for old time's sake!"

            "Oh, no you don't!" Varansaur said.  He pointed at Oreotragus.  "I am not letting another drop of alcohol into that man's body."

            Hasphat thought for a second.  "He can have flin, then.  It's an imported Cyrodiilic whiskey, but there are no actual intoxicating effects.  He'll be really strong for a while, but he'll stay perfectly sober.  His intelligence won't drop at all."

            _Not that I'd notice if it did, _Varansaur thought to himself.  "All right.  Let's go."

            Fifteen minutes later, Varansaur, Hasphat, and Oreotragus entered Balmora's local pub, The Eight Plates.  The Eight Plates seemed to be a less decorated, yet quainter, version of The Rat in the Pot.  The three of them sat down at the bar and ordered three flins from the Dunmer publican.

            "So," Oreotragus said, taking a sip from his flin.  "I hear you have information regarding the Sixth House…"

            "Not so loud!" Hasphat hissed.  "The Sixth House is loathed and hated by all who do not serve it.  I'd tell you more, but first, I'd like you to do a little favor for me."

            "What's that?" Varansaur asked.

            "As I'm sure Caius told you, I'm a student of Morrowind history.  I'm particularly interested in the Seventh House, House Dwemer, which mysteriously disappeared thousands of years ago, along with the entire Dwemer race.  I have heard of a Dwemer artifact that may be of some use to me in my studies."  Hasphat set his flin on the counter and took out a piece of paper.  A small cube with a circular design and symbols on one side and some lined marks on the other sides was drawn on the paper.  "This is the Dwemer puzzle box.  I'm not entirely sure what it does, but I want it.  It's about the size of a fist, maybe a little bigger, and is made out of a coppery metal."

            "That's all you want?" Oreotragus said, a little surprised.  "That little cube?"

            "Well," Hasphat said, "there's a catch.  In order to _bring_ me the Dwemer puzzle box, you must first _get_ the puzzle box.  There's only one in existence that I know of.  I hear it was lost in the Dwemer ruin of Arkngthand."

            "And I'm guessing that's not in our backyard." Varansaur said.

            "Actually, it pretty much is.  All you have to do is head south out of town past the silt strider port, then cross bridges east over the Odai River. At the signpost, head north towards Caldera. Immediately on the right see a signpost for Molag Mar. Turn right and head uphill on an old road to cross an ancient Dwemer bridge over Foyada Mamaea. The entrance to Arkngthand is on the east side of the foyada, south of the bridge. Turn a crank on a pipe nearby to open the doors."

            Oreotragus took another sip from his flin.  "So, what's the catch?"

            "The catch," Hasphat replied, "is that Arkngthand is huge, and the puzzle box is tiny.  To make matters worse, trade in Dwemer artifacts is illegal, so naturally, there's a huge black market for it.  Arkngthand is very dangerous for this reason, because there are bandits, and worse, living there."

            Varansaur did a very violent spit take, all over the barmaid.  "Worse?" he coughed.  "What could be worse?"

            "Centurions, that's what." Hasphat said, with finality.  "The Dwemer built giant mechanical monsters to guard their citadels, and many of them are still active.  If you're lucky, the centurions in Arkngthand will have retreated to the bowels of the ruin by now, so you should only have to deal with the bandits.  I'm afraid I can't give you any more information than that.  You're on your own."

            "So, wait." Oreotragus said.  "If trading Dwemer artifacts is illegal…"

            "Don't worry," Hasphat said.  "Trading is defined as selling something for profit.  You're giving me the box as a gift, so it's perfectly legal."

            After paying for the three flins, (and the barmaid's dry cleaning bills) Hasphat showed Oreotragus and Varansaur outside and sent them on their way.  The trip was rather uneventful.  The two travelers followed Hasphat's directions.  Eventually, they arrived at a large, metal bridge, with several wooden carts leaning against crates and barrels.  Beyond the bridge, Oreotragus and Varansaur could see what had apparently once been a great city built into the side of the mountain.  It was worn from millennia of disuse, but still pretty impressive nonetheless. Towers of every discernable shape and size stretched towards the sky. Some looked like onions on poles; others resembled gyroscopes.  Still others looked like giant pipes with antennae.  At the edge of one of the hills was a statue of a bearded man holding a pike.  All of this was constructed of a metal that neither Varansaur nor Oreotragus had seen before in their lives.

            "Amazing…" Oreotragus said in awe.  "Let's go!"

            "Wait a minute!" Varansaur shouted, grabbing Oreotragus by the collar.  "Have you learned nothing about barging in without checking?  Hasphat said there were bandits here.  He also said that trading in Dwemer artifacts is illegal, which means that the bandits are likely to have a lookout, and if he sees us, he'll probably call out an army of reinforcements and…you know what, on second thought, you go right ahead."

            "Gee," Oreotragus said, darkly.  "Thanks for looking out for me."

            Varansaur and Oreotragus slowly clanked their way across the bridge.  "Wow," Varansaur whispered.  "They have their own labor system here.  They pack up crates and barrels full of things they find down in the ruins and bring them topside.  Then, it would appear that someone comes and collects the stuff with these carts and takes it to their fence."

            Oreotragus raised an eyebrow.  "How do you know this?"

            "I don't" Varansaur whispered back.  "That's just what I think happens."

            At that moment, a white-haired Imperial man stepped out from behind one of the barrels.  "What are you two doing here?"

            Varansaur and Oreotragus looked at each other, then at their assailant, and then at each other again.  "We're…here to...help…unload the…the ruin," they said, alternating.

            The Imperial man lowered his hands.  "Oh.  You must be Dogrim gro-Notar and Lurtz gro-Shagrat."

            Varansaur looked at Oreotragus.  "Uh…yeah.  That's…exactly who we are.  Right, Lurtz?"

            "That's right…Dogrim…" Oreotragus said, slowly.

            "Well then, in that case, go right…wait a minute.  Those are Orcish names!"

            "So?"

            "You're a Bosmer!  There's no way they would give a Bosmer an Orc's name and send him to do a tough job like this.  I could maybe understand the Argonian, but…"

            Oreotragus's sword whipped silently out of its sheath.  "Are you saying that Bosmer are weak?"

            "Hmm," the Imperial man said.  "Let me answer that in the following way."  With that, he pulled a metal barrel off the top of the pile and rolled it at Oreotragus and Varansaur.  The two ran almost the entire length of the bridge, before the barrel rolled on top of Varansaur's tail.  As Varansaur struggled to free himself, the lid to the barrel fell off, and a human skeleton fell out.

            Oreotragus shuddered.  "That…is just sick…and _wrong!!"_

The Imperial at the other end of the bridge waved his hands.  "_Tayem__ hekem ekem!__  Doht yoodt seht tayem!  Seht hekem ayem lyr-lyr!  Seht ekem roht vehk ekem!  Meht ekem!"_

            The skeleton reached up, grabbed the edge of the barrel, and pulled itself to its feet.  It reached inside the barrel, pulled out a rusty iron saber, and swung it at Varansaur, who just barely managed to duck and avoid losing his head.

            "I take that back," Oreotragus said, weakly.  "_That_ is sick and wrong."

If you were to, say, review…I wouldn't complain.


	17. Divine Intervention

Dano the Overlander(): I've been thinking.  Your reviews make me think that you want me to include your character in my story. (Remind you of a certain Mage Imperator, Anneke?)  If this is true, I have the _perfect_ place for your character, but you'll have to wait a _very_ long time for it.

To Anneke Xannon Shallot: What he said was "The Dust Shall Serve Me."  If you read a Summon Skeleton scroll, that's what it says.

I don't own, and you don't ask.  ¿Comprende?

Chapter 17

            Oreotragus stepped back.  The only thing he had to combat the skeleton were a single throwing star and an iron sparksword.  As he stepped back, he felt something under his foot.  He looked at what he had stepped on and saw a small amulet made from two pointed teeth lying in the mud.  "Hmm," he mused, picking it up and slipping it over his neck.  "I wonder why it's glowing like this?"

            Ignoring Varansaur's protests, Oreotragus gave the amulet a slight squeeze.  Instantly, he went rigid, and was enveloped in a radiant white light.  Varansaur shielded his eyes.  The Imperial mage at the other end of the bridge shielded his eyes.  Even the skeleton shielded its eyes, although it technically didn't have any.  There was a brilliant flash, and Oreotragus vanished.

            _Meanwhile, at __Fort__Moonmoth__…_

            "And that," Radd Hard-Heart said, walking outside with the new recruit hopeful, a dark-haired Nord man named Rothjoln Wolf-Blood, "is pretty much all there is to it."

            Wolf-Blood looked around the fort.  "Is it usually this…boring…around here?"

            "Well…yes." Hard-Heart sighed.  "Fun tends to take a backseat to Legion activities.  Not that there _are_ many Legion activities around here.  Things have been pretty quiet, so finding ways to spend our time has become a popular hobby around here.  Take those guys over there." He pointed at two guards sitting on barrels at the other end of the fort.  "They're trying to come up with a new entertaining performance series."

            "I know!" one of the guards shouted.  "How's this for a concept: a super-intelligent laboratory animal who wants to take over the world!"

            "Nah," the other guard said.  "I doubt we could sell that, even if we gave him a sidekick who had the I.Q. of an inkwell and shouted random outbursts during conversation."

            The two guards began thinking again.  "Here's a thought," the second guard said.  "We take two groups of randomly selected people, strand them on an island, and make them compete in elimination challenges!  The last one left on the island wins a cash prize!"

            The first guard narrowed his eyes.  "Who in their right mind would want to see that?"

            At that moment, several white lights began flying towards the fort from the north.

            "This is perhaps the most exciting thing that happens around here," Hard-Heart said to Wolf-Blood.  "Someone uses the Divine Intervention spell to request help from the Nine Divines.  They agree, and transport that person to the nearest Imperial Cult shrine."

            The lights began to swirl together inside the fort, until they transformed into a rather confused-looking Bosmer in mismatched armor.

            "What?" the Bosmer shouted.  "Where am I?  And why am I here?"

            "Relax, stranger," Hard-Heart said.  "You're at Fort Moonmoth.  You got here using the Divine Intervention spell."

            "I don't remember casting a spell.  The last thing I remember doing is…" he looked down at the amulet he was wearing.  "Oh no," he whispered.  "The amulet!  When I squeezed it, it took me here, and left Varansaur to deal with that madman and his skeleton minion back at Arkngthand!"

            "You know," one of the guards said, "Arkngthand isn't that far from here.  In fact, you probably passed this place to get there.  If you hurry, you might get there in time to save this friend Varansaur of yours."

            The elf thought.  "Well, going to save him _would_ be the right thing to do.  On the other hand, Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued never really cared much about 'the right thing to do.'  Plus, if I don't save him, he'll never call me an imbecile…or a gibbering lunatic…or a kwama-faced guar kisser…okay, he's never called me _that_, but I wouldn't put it past him…"

            "Oreotragus!!" Varansaur's shriek was audible, even from that far away.  "If you don't get back here and help me, I will haunt you until the day you die!"

            "Okay, I'm convinced, I'm helping him."

            "Wait!" Hard-Heart called after him.  "If you're going after those bandits in Arkngthand, you'll need some supplies."

            "Than…wait a minute.  You know about the bandits in Arkngthand?"  
            "Of course we do."

            Oreotragus gave Hard-Heart an incredulous look.  "So…why haven't you done anything about them?"

            "Well," Hard-Heart said, nervously, "we can't."

            Oreotragus took a step back.  "What do you mean 'you can't'?  You're the Imperial Legion, and you can't even do anything about bandits and smugglers in your own backyard?  How am I supposed to rely on you guys when a gang of muggers is chasing me down the street?"

            "Emperor's orders," Hard-Heart replied.  "All Imperial guards are to remain at their posts at all times unless specifically told otherwise.  But I can give you some supplies."  Hard-Heart opened a crate and extracted a longbow and a quiver that contained no less than sixty iron arrows.  "I hope you're a marksman, because this is all I can spare for a non-legion member."

            Oreotragus took the bow and arrows as though it was some sort of sacred ritual.  The moment was broken by Varansaur's panicked scream.

            "I gotta run," Oreotragus said, slinging the quiver over his shoulder.  "Thanks!"

            "Give those bandits Hell!" Hard-Heart called after him.

            Oreotragus sprinted up the path, proudly clutching his new weapon.  He came skidding to a halt at the top of the hill, where he saw Varansaur and the skeleton locked in mortal combat.  Varansaur seemed to be doing all right.  He was blocking all of the skeleton's blows with his dagger.  Oreotragus took a few seconds to catch his breath, before he loaded an arrow to his bow and shouted, "Hey, bonehead!"

            The skeleton turned its skull in Oreotragus' direction, only to receive an arrow in its nasal cavity.  The skeleton recoiled, took a few steps back, and ran towards Oreotragus, saber held high.  Varansaur saw his chance and slid his dagger between two of the skeleton's lumbar vertebrae.  With a powerful swipe, Varansaur cut the skeleton's spine in half.  The disembodied legs staggered for a few steps, before falling over and ceasing to move.

            Varansaur and Oreotragus now turned their attention to the Imperial mage at the other end of the bridge.  "What are you going to do now?" Varansaur said, smugly.

            A strange, glowing spear appeared in the mage's hands.  He lowered it and charged Varansaur and Oreotragus.

            "Okay," Varansaur said, "I suppose you could do that…"

            Oreotragus loaded another arrow to his bow and fired into the mage's shoulder.  At the same time, Varansaur dropped to his knees and rolled into his assailant.  He stood up, just in time to see Oreotragus' fist connect with the mage's jaw.  The mage stumbled backwards and fell onto Varansaur's dagger.

            The Argonian pulled his dagger out of the man's kidney.  The mage dropped his spear, which vanished in a yellow flash as soon as it hit the bridge.  His strength quickly waning, he turned to Varansaur, hands raised in a threatening gesture.  Without even thinking about it, Varansaur dropped his dagger on the bridge.  The mage stepped on the slimy, bloodstained weapon, lost his footing, and slid underneath the railing of the bridge.  Varansaur dove and grabbed the dagger in time to stop it from going over the edge.  The mage, however, plummeted to the bottom of they grey canyon beneath them, hitting the ground with a loud, wet splat.

            "Eww," Varansaur said, looking at the mage's corpse, which was no longer recognizable as human.  "That has to be the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life.  And I grew up in a swamp."

            Oreotragus joined him at the edge of the bridge, as several small, white creatures with eight spindly legs slithered out from behind the rocks at the bottom of the crevice.  They tapped their short tails on the ground as they pulled small chunks of meat from the corpse and swallowed them whole.

            "Wow," Oreotragus said.  "The guy hasn't been dead for ten seconds, and the scavengers are already gathering."

            The small creatures all looked up in unison, and scattered as something much larger came dashing down the ravine.  Each was about the size of a grown man, had two muscular legs ending in large three-toed feet.  They had bony frills protecting their necks, large tusks protruding from the sides of their mouths, and no visible eyes.

            "Kagouti!" Varansaur said.

            "What?  How do you know that?"

            "We have kagouti in Black Marsh…but they're nowhere near that large."

            One of the kagouti hooked a straggling white creature on its tusk and tossed it up in the air, catching it in its toothy mouth as it fell.  The other kagouti began to make short work of the mage's body.

            "I think I've seen enough," Oreotragus said.  "Let's go get that puzzle box."

            ***          *          ***

On the inside, Arkngthand looked even larger than it had from the outside.  This was hardly surprising, as much of the citadel had been built underground.  The place was full of strange mechanical clunking and whirring, and the little light there was came from strange, transparent cylinders mounted over the circular double doors.  The entry hall to the ruin itself seemed to descend nearly three stories into the mountain.  In the dim light, Varansaur and Oreotragus could make out the shapes of people stacking more crates and barrels along the wall.

            Everyone's attention was diverted by the sound of a metallic creaking.  They all looked up at a ledge that was about twenty feet off the ground.  One of the circular doors opened, and a bald Imperial man stepped out to survey what was going on.

            "What are you looking at?" he barked.  "Get back to work!"

            A very thin man came through the door holding something in his hand.  "Hey, Crito.  I found something in…"

            The bald man rounded on his associate.  "What did you just call me?"

            "Well, I…"

            "When did we decide that it was okay to use my first name?"

            "Well…never…but…"

            Crito took out an iron war axe and split the skinny man in half, catching the small item as it fell.  He then walked up to a muscular Redguard man and gave him the thing.

            "Frink, maybe you can show these people what he _should_ have done."

            Frink held the small thing in front of him.  "Hey, boss.  We found something in the Cells of Hollow Hand."

            "That's better," Crito said.  "Please describe it to me."

            "Well," Frink said, carrying the item over to one of the unusual, fire-less lights.  "It appears to be a small cube, about the size of a fist, maybe a little bigger.  It seems to have some weird circular designs on some of the sides, and some linear designs on the others.  It's made out of the same metal as all of the other Dwarven things we've found."

            "Excellent," Crito said, taking the box from Frink.  "I don't believe I've ever seen anything like this.  It must be one of a kind."  He smiled greedily.  "Mr. Dren is going to come through in spades when we give him this."

           Varansaur felt his brain overflowing with hatred.  Unless the Duke was involved in some kind of illegal smuggling ring, which seemed highly unbefitting of a duke, these bandits' worked for none other than Orvas Dren.

            Please review.


	18. Bandits are Bad, Robots are Worse

Chapter 18

            Varansaur and Oreotragus lay back against the wall.  The good news was that the thing they had come for was right there in the room with them.  The bad news was that a gang of hardened bandits, nearly three stories below them had it, and they didn't seem likely to give it up.

            Varansaur looked back over the ledge at the bandits.  "We need a plan."

            "What plan?" Oreotragus whispered.  "We go down there, we kill them, we take the box!"

            "That's a great idea," Varansaur whispered back.  "We'll just jump thirty feet straight down into mob of hardened criminals whose boss isn't afraid to slaughter his own men.  You take the ten on the left, and I'll take the ten on the right.  What could be simpler?"

            "Oh sure," Oreotragus said.  "Any idea sounds bad when you talk about it like that.  But don't worry.  I'll come up with a plan."

            "I'm sure you will," Varansaur said, taking another look at the bandits.  They were a mixed crew of Imperials, Redguard, and Nords.  Many of them were just shabbily dressed men, clearly thugs for hire.  However, a few, such as Frink, wore thick netch leather armor and had the look of seasoned hunters.  Crito himself looked like a tank, with a clunky iron cuirass that made him look as though he had a can snapped onto his chest.  His scalp was pulled tight, indicating that he had once had hair, but had lost it in a rather unpleasant manner.  Clearly, the higher ranking bandits were no strangers to hard combat.

            "Yep," Oreotragus said.  "I can crank out plans like a rat cranks out offspring."

            "That…was really more information than I needed to know," Varansaur said.

            "I'm a pirate, dammit!  I know everything there is to know about thinking my way out of tight situations."

            "Uh huh," Varansaur said, watching as Frink lifted a massive two-handled…thing with large plugs sticking out of the sides.  

            "Any idea what this is?"

            "I think that's a dwarven coherer," one of the thugs said.  "They used those things to conduct electrical currents to their mechanical constructs."

            "I don't really care," Frink said, hoisting the coherer up to chest level, "but the more we know about these things, the more Mr. Dren will be willing to pay for them."  He carried the coherer over to a nearby crate and set it down.  "Anything else?"

            "Hold on," one of the Nord hunter-bandits called from a nearby door.  "We have a few more barrels coming in from Weepingbell Hall."

            Varansaur took a few more seconds to check out the situation, before standing up and going through a box in a corner.

            "Okay," Oreotragus finally said, "I got nothing."

            "Yeah," Varansaur replied, "it did sound suspiciously like you were trying harder to convince yourself than me."

            "I don't get it!  I am Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued!"

            "So I've heard," Varansaur said, removing a cloth bag from inside the box.  He opened the bag, and saw that it was full of diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and pearls.

            "But I'm sure _you_ have a great plan!"

            "Actually," Varansaur said, breaking a metal bracer off of the box, "I think I do."  He held the bracer up to Oreotragus' head, and smiled evilly.

            "What?"

            "We need a distraction.  And I think I know just the guy to do it."

            "Whaddya want me to do?  Dress in drag and do the hula?"

            ***          *          ***

"So, how do I look?"

            Varansaur gave Oreotragus a quick appraising look.  The elf had the bag wrapped around his waist like a skirt.  Several pearls had been strung together into a necklace.  The metal bracer from the box had been bent into a headband, and several gems had been set into it.

            "Well…" Varansaur said, "…I…it's a very good thing it's dark in here."

            "I still don't see why _I_ have to be the distraction!" Oreotragus whined in his typical high-pitched Bosmer voice.

            "Somehow, I didn't see them going for a female lizard…who sings baritone." Varansaur replied.  "Look on the bright side: at least I didn't make you do the hula…whatever that is."  He gestured at the long, twisting stone ramp that led down to the bandits.  "There's another hallway about halfway down the ramp.  We'll sneak down to there.  I'll hide in the hallway, while you do your thing.  I'll take it from there."

            "Right," Oreotragus said, sashaying down towards the hallway.

            Varansaur massaged his temples.  They were doomed.

            ***          *          ***

Frink clamped the lid down firmly on the last of the crates.  He turned to the Nord hunter-bandit and said; "Anything else, Cristus?"

            The Nord took another look inside the door.  "Nope.  That's everything."

            "Oh, boys!"

            Everyone looked up to see Oreotragus, doing his best woman impression.  By that, I mean he was failing miserably.

            "Ah was just…out for a stroll, when ah realized that…ah was lawst.  Could one of y'all kind gentlemen please direct me to Balmora?"

            The hired thugs grinned eagerly and rushed up to assist their visitor.  Crito, Frink, and Cristus followed, out of sheer incredulousness.

            "That," Frink said, "is the ugliest woman I have ever seen."

            "No," Cristus replied, "I've seen 'em uglier.  Take my ex-wife, for example."

            Crito simply tossed the box up and down in his hand and said nothing.  Nobody noticed Varansaur emerge from the hallway behind them.  Nobody saw him catch the box as Crito tossed it up in the air.  However, Crito did notice that the box, after two seconds, had not yet come back down.  He turned around to see Varansaur dashing off down the ramp, cradling something in his arms.

            "We're being robbed!" Crito shouted.  "Some Argonian is trying to steal the stuff we're stealing!  Kill him!"

            Weapons drawn, the bandits turned around and began chasing after Varansaur.  This proved that they were familiar with fighting, but not with thinking.  Oreotragus unhooked his bow from his back and began plugging the bandits with arrows as they ran.

            It didn't take Crito very long to notice the sound of a bowstring twanging.  "Forget the Argonian!  The elf is trying to kill us!  Get him!"

            Immediately, the bandits turned around and began running in Oreotragus' direction.  Oreotragus continued firing arrows into the mob of advancing bandits, until they got within striking range.  When that happened, he planted the end of his bow in the ground and vaulted over the bandits' heads, landing on the other side, and took off after Varansaur.

            "Great!" Crito shouted.  "Now we can kill both of 'em at the same time!"

            Oreotragus caught up with Varansaur, still running aimlessly down a hallway.

            "About time you got here!" Varansaur chided.

            "Hey, you try running in a skirt!"

            "Did it ever occur to you to take it off?"

            Oreotragus untied the bag from around his waist and tossed it behind him.  "So, you got any more bright ideas?"

            "Keep running," Varansaur panted.  "Maybe there's a back door!"

            So Varansaur and Oreotragus dashed through what seemed to be every room in the ruin.  The entire time, more bandits seemed to be emerging from the metalwork and joining the mob chasing them.  Finally, exhausted and out of breath, they arrived at a round door they didn't recognize.

            Varansaur pulled on the handle.  "It's locked!"

            Oreotragus bent down to examine the lock.  "Yes, but this lock is ancient.  It hasn't been touched in thousands of years, and has begun to deteriorate."

            "What does that mean!?"

            Oreotragus held his hands in a spellcasting position.  "I love being born under the sign of the tower."  He cast a small purple bolt of magicka at the door.  The door clicked and groaned, until the sound of a lock giving way was clearly heard.  "Let's go!" Oreotragus shouted, pulling the door open and running inside, Varansaur close behind him, and the bandits close behind both of them.  The two adventurers sprinted down a short metal staircase and turned right at the bottom, passing a giant metal sphere.  At the next fork, they turned left.  Finally, they found a dark alcove, where they stopped to catch their breath.

            "This…is getting…ridiculous." Varansaur gasped.

            "I…know…" Oreotragus panted.  "I can't…keep this up…much longer…"

            "There has to…be some…way out of…here…"

            Oreotragus suddenly straightened up.  "Hey, Varansaur?"

            "What?"

            "How come they're not chasing us anymore?"

            Cautiously, Varansaur and Oreotragus slunk back to the entrance of the room.  Every single bandit that had been chasing them was dead, and they hadn't gone down gently.  Frink and Cristus were slouched against the bloodstained wall.  Crito's iron cuirass had been split in half.  His hand, still weakly clutching the splintered handle of his axe, lay several feet away.  But the strangest thing they noticed was that the metal sphere was no longer in the same place it had been a few minutes ago…at least, that _was_ the strangest thing, until the sphere began to roll towards them on its own accord.  It stopped about a yard away from them.  That's when things began to get even uglier.

            The top of the sphere came off, but was still supported by what appeared to be a metal arm.  The arm rose out of the ball, followed by a metal torso, attached to another arm with no hand and a long, pointed head with only one green eye.  The metal ring around the eye rotated slightly, as the robot tried to get a good focus on Oreotragus and Varansaur.

            "This must be one of those centurions that Hasphat told us about." Varansaur said.

            "Maybe it's friendly?" Oreotragus said.

            "Yeah," Varansaur replied.  "I'm sure you'd have to be the friendliest person in the world to do something like that."  He gestured to the blanket of dead bandits on the floor.

            "Maybe it just killed them because they were looting its ruin."

            A giant metal blade shot out of the robot's arm.

            "Or, maybe it's a mindless killing machine.  RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

            _Oh joy,_ Varansaur thought.  _More running.___

The two ran through the bowels of Arkngthand, with the centurion rolling after them.  The centurion frequently had to stop, come out of its ball, get its bearings again, and return to its ball form, which slowed it down considerably.  Oreotragus and Varansaur were running down one of the darkest hallways when…

            "AAAAUGH!" Oreotragus suddenly shouted.  "Something got me!  It's on my head!"

            Varansaur turned around to see what appeared to be a giant mechanical spider clinging to Oreotragus' head.  It had two of its needle-sharp legs hooked on the corner of his mouth, and two more in his nostrils.

            "It's going to pull my face apart!" Oreotragus moaned.

            Varansaur pulled out his dagger and struck at the only vulnerable spot he could see: a white, gelatinous blob in the center of the spider's body.  With a hiss, the spider jumped to the ground…just in time for the sphere to come crashing down the stairs and crush it.

            "Man," Varansaur said, "these dwarves didn't mess around when it came to security."

            "I think I may have figured out why they went extinct," Oreotragus said.

            The sphere unrolled itself and brandished its sword.  Oreotragus and Varansaur had been running almost the entire time they had been in Arkngthand, and no longer felt as though they had the energy to run from the sphere centurion any further.  But they didn't need to, because at that moment, the centurion focused on something else for a few seconds, before rolling away, very quickly.

            "That was easy." Oreotragus said.

            "I don't like the looks of this," Varansaur said.  Hesitantly, both of them turned around to see the reason the sphere centurion had left in such a hurry.  The reason was a seven-foot-tall mechanical giant, with hydraulic pistons for arms and giant maces for hands.  As it shifted its weight slightly, it hissed and gave off steam.  Varansaur nearly passed out.

            Just then, Oreotragus slapped himself on the forehead.  "Duh!  I'm such an idiot!"

            "I knew that already," Varansaur groaned.

            Oreotragus ignored Varansaur's comment and pulled the amulet out from under his cuirass.  "I had our escape route around my neck the entire time!  Do you have the box?"

            "Yeah, I have the box…"  
            "Good," Oreotragus said, wrapping one arm around Varansaur's midsection, "because we are out of here!"  With that, he squeezed the amulet, and the two of them were enveloped in bright light.  With a flash, they vanished, just as the giant's hydraulic-mounted hand shot forward at the place where Oreotragus' head had been.

            Less than a second later, the blinding light disappeared, and the two adventurers found themselves at Fort Moonmoth.  Oreotragus looked at Varansaur.  Varansaur looked at Oreotragus.  Both of them started laughing for no apparent reason, before fainting from exhaustion.

Reviews?  What?


	19. Remember These Guys?

Am I on chapter nineteen already? And they only just now got out of Arkngthand? In the words of the immortal Strong Bad: "Holy crap!"

Sorry it's been so long. My computer was temporarily taken down. Remodeling gets to be a bit of a pain sometimes.

To Pester: When my character was in his early levels, centurions _were_ that bad, especially the steam variety. And no, not every bandit in Vvardenfell works for Orvas Dren. After the centurion incident, he decides to take a different approach…but I don't want to give away this chapter quite yet. Also, refresh my memory: when exactly did I reference Star Wars? It's possible that you are referring to one of my _other_ stories, but it's just bugging me.

Something else that's bugging me, Pester: in one of your reviews, you referred to my story as "meta." I'm still unsure as to the definition of that word.

Help me! I'm running out of creative ways to write my disclaimers!

Chapter 19

Orvas Dren's gaze shifted nervously from his basement door to the image of Dagoth Ur, reclining in the image of a chair. "Are you…sure…I can't get you something, my lord? Some brandy, perhaps?"

Dagoth Ur stood up. "Dren…I'm not actually _here,_ remember?"

"Oh," Dren said, turning whatever color dark elves turn when they blush. "Yes. Of course."

"You seem incredibly nervous today."

Dren looked back at the basement door. "It's just that…I've never tried anything of this magnitude before."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Dren." Dagoth Ur walked in a circle around Dren. "You still haven't told me what your plan is."

"Well, I would show you, if two certain _Ieniths_ would get their lazy butts _up_ here with those _charts_!!!" The italicized words were directed at the basement.

"Just a second!" Navil called from the basement. "Ranes spilled sujamma on chart #4, and we had to redraw it from scratch."

Dren ran his fingers through his spiked hair. "Drinking on the job," he moaned. "If they weren't my best enforcers, I'd fire both of them on the spot."

The next few minutes passed in silence. Finally, Dren broke the silence by saying; "You're absolutely sure you don't need anything?"

Dagoth Ur sighed heavily. "Look. For the last time, Dren. Get this through your head: I. Am. Still. At. Red. Mountain! I cannot leave Red Mountain! There is a curse on me and my citadel that prevents me from leaving Red Mountain! All I can do is project my image, which has no physical mass of its own, into your living room, and that's what you're seeing right now! Got that?"

Dren shrunk back into the corner. "Yes…sir…"

At that moment, the basement door opened. Ranes and Navil Ienith entered the room, arms laden with stiff sheets of parchment.

"About time," Dren said, regaining his composure. "To explain our evil plan to you, we have prepared a visual presentation." The Ienith brothers placed the parchment on a nearby easel.

Dren pulled out a long, thin rod and pointed to the first parchment, which was a map of the southern portion of Vvardenfell. "We are, as you know, at the Dren Plantation, which is here." He tapped a red X on the map. "Every Morndas, the Grand Imperial Council is held here," he tapped another X, "in Ebonheart. Only four people are permitted to attend this council." He removed the first parchment, and began pointing at the second, which had elaborate sketches of Vedam Dren, another Dunmer man with white hair and an expensive-looking suit, and two heavily armored Imperial men. One had a steel helm on; the other was bare-headed, except for very short red hair.

Dren tapped the helmet-less Imperial. "This is Varus Vantinius, Knight of the Imperial Dragon." He tapped the white-haired Dunmer. "This is Llaalam Dreidil, another high-ranking member of the Imperial Legion." He tapped the Duke. "This, of course, is my s'wit of a brother. And this," he said, tapping the fourth man, "is his personal bodyguard. He won't present much of a threat, because he actually works for me. I use him to spy on Vedam and see what he's up to."

Dagoth Ur scratched his shoulder. "Does this story have a point?"

"I'm getting there. Since only these four people are permitted to attend the council without a prior appointment, this is the ideal time to nail him!"

"Great," Dagoth Ur said, "but how do you propose to do that without getting yourself arrested?"

"This is where it gets complicated." Dren now revealed the third parchment, which had a drawing of a very elaborate suit of armor. The entire thing was red and black and covered with spikes. The helmet was adorned with seven long horns: six along the face, and one at the top. The suit of armor was accompanied by a longsword with a similar red and black pattern.

"This is no ordinary suit of Daedric armor," Dren said. "This suit belongs to Bragi No-Nose in Karthwasten."

"Where?"  
"Karthwasten. It's in Skyrim. Anyone who wears this armor while holding this sword will become the ultimate assassin! If you strike anyone with the sword while you are wearing the armor, it will slay that person almost instantly. No-Nose got a little drunk one night, put the armor on, and accidentally killed all the guests at his own wedding. Now, he wants to get rid of both the armor and the sword. But he's not just giving it away. Someone has to make an insane offer before he will sell it."

Dren put the first parchment, the map of Vvardenfell, back on the easel. "Once we get the armor to the plantation, we smuggle it into the canalworks of the St. Olms canton in Vivec City," he said, pointing at yet another X. "Once that happens, someone, possibly even me, sneaks into the canalworks, puts the armor on, and the uses Divine Intervention to warp to Ebonheart. The Nine Divines don't care who invokes their powers, or why. In the suit of armor, the assassin enters the Grand Council Chambers, slays Vedam, and recalls back to the mark point set here at the plantation."

"I see where you're going with this," Dagoth Ur said, "but wouldn't people start to suspect things when they find out who bought the armor and sword?"

"That's the beauty of my plan!" Dren fished a ring out of his pocket. "I spent all night forging this thing. Before killing him, Vedam's murderer will punch him hard enough to leave the imprint of this ring in his flesh. A few days later, one of my lesser henchmen will walk into Ebonheart wearing the armor and the ring. I will be there myself, 'mourning' my brother's loss. When my lackey arrives, I will accuse him of murdering my brother and kill him. I will present the ring as proof of his guilt, thereby shifting the blame off of me. I will take Vedam's place and enact a new set of laws, ones that favor House Dagoth and the Camonna Tong."

"Very elaborately thought out," Dagoth Ur said. "Just one more thing: how do you plan on purchasing this armor and sword from No-Nose in the first place?"

Dren showed Dagoth Ur the fourth chart, which had three stick figures drawn on it. All of them had big, goofy, lopsided grins on their faces.

"What is this!?" Dren demanded.

"Well," Navil said, "like I said, Ranes spilled sujamma on this one, so I made him draw it again. And, you know that art school diploma he has hanging over his bed? That was forged."

"Anyway," Dren said, tapping one of the stick figures with his rod, "as luck would have it, I happened on this man right here, who called himself Crito. These are his two associates: Frink Ruuz," he pointed to what appeared to be a Redguard, "and Cristus Lync," he pointed to what was possibly a Nord. "They specialize in hiring low-life thugs to help them clean out ruins. I told them that I would pay them handsomely for the full contents of any Dwemer ruin. Before long, they should arrive at the plantation, loaded with stuff. When they bring all the stuff in, I will kill them, removing the necessity to pay them. Then, I offer Bragi No-Nose a trade: a shipload of Dwemer artifacts and fine gems in exchange for his cursed suit of armor and longsword."

Dagoth Ur folded his arms across his chest. "You've really thought this out, haven't you?"

"Yep," Dren said, beaming.

"So well, in fact," Dagoth Ur continued, "that if someone throws even the slightest monkey wrench into the operation, this entire plan will go up in flames."

Dren waved aside Dagoth Ur's retort. "Oh, please. What are the odds of that ever happening?"

At that moment, someone began pounding on the door, very hard. Dagoth Ur quickly vanished.

Dren hastily pulled the door open. "What do you want…oh, it's you, Farethi."

Galos Farethi, Orvas Dren's highest-ranking henchman after the Ienith brothers, was standing in the doorway, his ebony boots, Daedric shield, and Orcish greaves providing a stark contrast to the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. "I found this piece of dung crawling around the plantation." He flung a nervous-looking Nord man at Dren's feet. "He says he wants to speak with you."

Dren scowled at the Nord. "Do I know you?"

"N…no, sir…" the Nord stammered. "My name is…Bato…Veranius. I…I was one of Crito's hired hands…"

"Crito?" Dren suddenly seemed interested in what Bato had to say. "Is he almost here?"

"Well, not exactly…he's dead."

Dren's arms slowly dropped limply at his sides as the force of what he had heard hit him head on in a way that only a sentence that uses six words beginning with the same letter in a row can convey. "Dead?"

"We were ambushed in Arkngthand. A Bosmer and an Argonian…they stole one of the really valuable things we found…it was a small cube, something we've never seen before…and Crito had us chase after them. Well, that was going well, until…they led us into the Land's Blood Gallery."

"And?"

Bato took a deep breath. "Crito never saw it coming. It just struck out of the darkness and cut off his hand."

"What did?"

"I…I don't know, sir. It…it seemed like a giant metal man with a rolling ball for a body. Crito was too stunned by the initial attack to fight back. It killed him, as well as Cristus and Frink. The rest of us panicked, making it easy for whatever it was to slaughter us all…'cept me. I escaped."

Dren looked at Bato for a very long time. Finally, he said; "I see. Well, no matter. I will still give you your reward."

Bato's head snapped up. "You will?"

"Sure," Dren said, leaning over towards something inside his house. "Just a second. Let me get it…"

Dren flicked a switch on the wall, and a crossbow concealed behind a tapestry fired a steel bolt into Bato's chest.

Farethi looked at Bato's body. "I assume you want me to do the same thing with him as all the rest, sir?"

"Yes, Farethi."

Farethi grabbed Bato by the arms and dragged him off in the general direction of the lake. Dren very calmly closed the door, before turning around, cursing at the top of his lungs, and leaving a very large dent in the wall with his boot.

Dagoth Ur reappeared. "What was that I was saying a few minutes ago about a monkey wrench?"

Dren didn't answer. He was too busy swearing under his breath and cradling his broken toes.

That's when Dagoth Ur seemed to notice something. "Wait…he said a Bosmer and an Argonian, didn't he?"

Dren rocked back and forth on the floor, clutching his foot in pain.

"He did say a Bosmer and an Argonian, didn't he?"

"I think so," Ranes Ienith said.

"All right," Dren said. "I think I can find a way to work around this. Maybe I can…"

"Not now, Dren," Dagoth Ur said. "You can keep thinking about that, but right now, I have something more important to take care of."

Dren arched his eyebrows. "What? What could be more important than removing the duke from out way?"

Dagoth Ur put a clawed hand on Dren's shoulder, which felt really weird for Dren, as Dagoth Ur wasn't actually there. "Dren," Dagoth Ur said, "you're one of my most loyal followers. I feel it's time to come clean. You see…the Nerevarine has come to Morrowind."


	20. Back to Balmora

(AN: Remember that disclaimer made back in one of my earlier chapters? You know, the one about how I'm not going to write any more disclaimers. Well, this time I'm sticking to that. I'm not going to put any more disclaimers in this story. It's chapter twenty, and if you haven't figured out by now who I own and who I don't own, that's your problem.

To my adoring fans: no, I have not dropped off the face of the Earth. I just have had other things on my mind for a while. Enrolling for Post-Secondary education classes is harder and more stressful than most people would think.

Since no longer supports asterisks, I will be using X's. So, if you see three X's, that's what it means.

Also, you may have noticed that, due to the increasing amount of violence in this story, the rating has changed to PG-13.)

Chapter 20

Oreotragus slowly opened his eyes. He was inside, in somebody's bed. This wasn't where he had passed out. He slowly sat up. The room had stone walls, but not much in the way of decoration. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man clad in heavy steel armor, talking to an almost completely identical man. They were obviously guards.

_Okay,_ he thought, _calm down. You passed out in the courtyard of __Fort__Moonmoth__, and the guards decided to bring you inside until you regained consciousness. Nothing alarming about that. Right?_

His gaze drifted to Varansaur, still unconscious in the bed next to him. The Dwemer Puzzle Box was clearly visible underneath Varansaur's clawed hand.

"You're not just going to let this opportunity slide, are you?" a growling voice said from very close to Oreotragus' left ear.

Oreotragus spun around, but didn't see anybody. The two guards had moved upstairs.

"Who's there?" Oreotragus hissed.

"I'm right here," the voice said again.

Oreotragus looked slowly to his left, and saw a three-inch-tall version of himself sitting on his left shoulder. It was wearing a red jumpsuit with a pointed tail attached to it, held a red trident the size of a toothpick, and had long red horns protruding from its hair.

"This is the perfect opportunity," the little thing said. "The most valuable Dwemer artifact ever found is right under his hand." He conjured a tiny grey cloud and floated on it down to the puzzle box. "As I recall, Habasi mentioned a scamp merchant in Caldera who can buy that thing for a pretty penny. You'll be one step closer to buying back that suit of armor you used to own."

"No!" came another voice from inside Oreotragus' own head. The elf became aware of something squirming out of his right ear. As he looked to his right shoulder, another three-inch-tall version of himself plopped out of his ear. This one was wearing a pure white robe and was trying to shrug off a very long chain.

"I thought I locked you up," the red guy said.

"Oreotragus!" the white guy shouted. "Wait! Think of what Varansaur would think if he found out you betrayed him like this!"

"Who cares what Varansaur thinks?" the red guy replied. "Need I remind you, Oreotragus, of all the things he's done for you?" He cleared his throat. "This gibbering lunatic…" he said, in a perfect imitation of Varansaur's voice. "On second thought, you go right ahead…he's kind of...an imbecile…I will haunt you until the day you die!" He reverted back to his original voice. "Is this really the kind of guy you want to be loyal to?"

"All right," the white guy growled, "here's why you shouldn't take it. When Varansaur wakes up, sees the box gone, and sees you gone as well, it won't take him very long to figure out what happened. He will hunt you down and…"

"And what?" the red guy snapped. "Kill him with his pathetic little knife?"

"You don't know what other weapons he may be proficient at!" the white one cried. "He may be an expert axeman, for all you know. Just because he only has a dagger now doesn't mean that's the only weapon he knows how to use!"

Oreotragus looked at the red guy. "You have a response to that?"

"You're Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued! Don't you want to make a comeback?"

"You've been under extra-close surveillance ever since you were released. If you do one more thing, it's back to eating prison food. And do you really want to have to deal with another inmate like Hruthnir Lokisson?"

Oreotragus shuddered at the memory of his super-sized cellmate back at the Imperial City prison. "You're right. No comeback is worth another guy like that. Besides: after I secured us a position in House Hlaalu, got us out of Arkngthand, and didn't steal the box, Varansaur owes me, big time."

"Excuse me, sir?"

The miniature Oreotraguses vanished with an "Eep!", leaving the real Oreotragus alone in the room with Varansaur and an Imperial guard with a short, black beard.

"Who were you talking to?" the guard inquired.

"Oh," Oreotragus said. "These two little guys that look just like me. They spontaneously appear on my shoulders and try to talk me into taking one side or the other in moral dilemmas."

"Oh," the guard said, "you have guys like that, too?"

"Yeah."

"My guys just convinced me to talk to you and your Argonian friend about something very important. They weren't sure if it was wise to trust you with this, but in the end they decided that it was. You see, the Emperor has a bit of work for you two. When the Argonian wakes up…"

"What about the Argonian waking up?" Varansaur said, sitting up in bed.

"Oh good," the guard said. "You're awake. Now I can tell you both about the work I have for you."

Varansaur looked at the box, still in his hand, and then at Oreotragus, the box not in his hand.

"Is something wrong?" the guard asked.

"No," Varansaur said. "Just…nothing. Now, what's this important job you have?"

"Let me tell you a little story," the guard said. "Once upon a time there was a bad magistrate who took gold from criminal organizations to reduce the sentences and fines of criminals. Everybody knew he was doing this, but nobody could prove it. Because even if it could be proved, the bad magistrate had important friends, and proof is not as powerful as important friends.

"At the same time there was a good officer who enforced the laws because he thought laws made people happy and safe. And it bothered the good officer that enforcing the laws did no good, because the bad magistrate let the criminals go as quick as the officer caught them.

"For a long time, the good officer sighed, and said, 'What can I do? Because the bad magistrate has important friends, and nothing I can do will touch him.' But then, the good officer said, 'Say. Wait a minute. What about the bad people who are _bribing_ the bad magistrate? _They_ haven't got important friends. And if they aren't around, then the bad magistrate can't get any more bribes.'"

Varansaur looked at Oreotragus. "He's talking to us like we were children."

"And even better," the guard continued, as though Varansaur hadn't spoken, "the good officer suspected that the bad people who were bribing the bad magistrate were probably criminals themselves. So the good officer decided that it would be good if the bad people who were bribing the bad magistrate should go away. Forever."

"Hmm," Oreotragus mused. "I like where this is going."

"So that good officer made a little special prayer that there would be a little bloodbath to wash the bad people away. There. Isn't that a nice little story? Maybe not a perfect story. Because it ends with a prayer, and not a bloodbath. But maybe the story isn't over yet."

"So," Varansaur said, slowly, "you want us to find these 'bad people' and 'wash them away' with a little 'bloodbath?'"

"Here's what I'm thinking," the guard said. "I love the law. I love the Empire. I love the people I try very hard to keep safe. But sometimes, no matter how hard we try to keep the peace, sometimes there is going to be blood. I think you know what I'm talking about. That's why I asked for you to do this bit of work. If you're willing."

"Really," Oreotragus said. "So…who are these 'bad people?'"

"Oh. The bad people are the Camonna Tong. I thought everybody knew that. They are a criminal organization. Unfortunately, I don't know who the Camonna Tong are. No one will tell me, because I am an officer. And it is against the Code to tell officers things. But people in the Thieves Guild hate the Camonna Tong. I bet if YOU asked the Thieves Guild, they would cheerfully tell you who the bad people are and where to find them."

Oreotragus rolled his eyes. "So, they're bad, and they're in the Camonna Tong. Great. So, that narrows the choice down to…every Camonna Tong member in the world. Don't you know anything else about them?"

"Well, I know they are a scout, a pawnbroker, a savant, a thief, and a smith, and that they are in Balmora. Unfortunately, I don't know their names. But maybe you can find their names. And where to find them. And then maybe my story could have a happy ending. With a little bloodbath, instead of a little prayer. And now that you're both awake and aware, I'll give you an escort back to Balmora."

**X X X**

(_Some time later, back in Balmora…_)

"Okay," Oreotragus said, "what do we do first?"

"_You're_ asking _my_ opinion?" Varansaur asked.

"Hey, there's a first time for everything," Oreotragus replied. "Would you rather I told _you_ what to do?"

"I see your point. Well," Varansaur said, "we could go to the Thieves' Guild and get the names of the Camonna Tong bribers. However," he removed the Puzzle Box from his shirt, "I'm not sure it's safe to bring something this valuable into the South Wall. It's quite valuable, and I'm not sure I can trust all of them to resist the temptation to break the Thieves' Code and steal from a Guild member."

Oreotragus took a step back. "You can't trust a group of thieves, pickpockets, and cutthroats? I'm cut to the quick, Varansaur, that you would even suggest such a thing!"

Varansaur just looked at Oreotragus.

"Okay, maybe one of them might, possibly, entertain the notion of…"

"We're taking this to Hasphat first," Varansaur said, his expression never wavering.

"Okay, fine!" Oreotragus pouted. "Have it your way."

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Oreotragus sighed. "It's just…it's been so long since I've done something criminal, and I'm going into withdrawl."

"Cheer up," Varansaur said, patting Oreotragus on the head. "We've just been asked to assassinate five people. That should get you back into the swing of things."

Oreotragus slowly uncrossed his arms. "Hey. You're right. Thanks!"

Varansaur's arm dropped. "I was being sarcastic."

"Don't care. I feel much better now."

The two started off down the road. They didn't get very far, however, before Varansaur stopped suddenly and said; "What's that sound?"

"What sound?" Oreotragus said, innocently.

"You were whistling, weren't you?"

Oreotragus spread his hands. "Well…yeah…sort of…"

Varansaur clapped a hand over his eyes. "It is a blatant violation of the laws of nature for any person to be that happy about the prospect of mass murdering."

"Hey, it's a fundamental difference between us. Get used to it."

"Fine, whatever, as long as you don't whistle. And if you even think about skipping…" Varansaur fingered the handle on his dagger.

**X X X**

Hasphat Antabolis turned the puzzle box over between three fingers. "Yes," he said. "This is exactly what I wanted."

"Great," Oreotragus said. "Now what do we get."

Hasphat pocketed the puzzle box, looked around the Fighters' Guild training room, and whispered; "Now, as I promised, I will give you information on the Sixth House."

Upstairs, someone broke something glass, which shattered very loudly. Flaenia Amiulusus conspicuously cleared her throat and said; "Uh…I have to…go…do a…thing…at the…place…" She didn't say or do anything for a few seconds; then, she ran out of the room as fast as she could.

Varansaur stared at the door through which she had left. "What's up with her?"

"Oh," Hasphat said, "she gets really uncomfortable whenever I bring up the Sixth House."

All the lanterns in the room went out at once.

Hasphat shook his head. "By the Nine, not again." He opened a small cage on the floor and extracted a squirming, writhing, blue-grey worm as long as his arm.

Varansaur recoiled. "What…_is_ that thing?"

"Oh, this? This is a shalk larva. I call him Slimy." Hasphat held Slimy up to one of the lanterns and gave him a light squeeze. Slimy gave a loud "Squeak!" and emitted a small jet of fire, re-lighting one of the lanterns. "Good boy," Hasphat said, replacing Slimy in his cage. He set a small blob of purple gelatin in front of the grub. "Have some scrib jelly."

Slimy squeaked with delight and glommed onto the jelly.

"Now then," Hasphat said, re-lighting the rest of the lanterns with a long torch, "if there are no more distractions, here's what I know about the…let's just call it the 'Lost House' from now on, shall we?"

"Fine by me," Oreotragus said.

"Very well," Hasphat said. "In the First Age, thousands of years ago, almost all the inhabitants of Morrowind belonged to one of seven great houses: Hlaalu, Redoran, Telvanni, Indoril, Dres, Dagoth, and Dwemer. House Dagoth betrayed the other houses during the War of the First Council, and was destroyed for their treason. House Indoril and House Dres essentially died out here in Vvardenfell, but are still prominent in mainland Morrowind. Nobody knows what happened to House Dwemer. They disappeared at about the same time as House Dagoth." Hasphat blew the torch out. "Some say that Dagoth and Dwemer were working together, and that they were destroyed for the same reasons. I think that if that had been the case, the other five houses would've recorded it, as they recorded the defeat of House Dagoth. I think something much more supernatural was at work, and that's why there's absolutely no record of what happened."

"Wow," Varansaur said. "It ought to be so much fun remembering all this when we have to report back to Caius."

"No need," Oreotragus said. "I took notes." He thrust a piece of paper into Varansaur's face. He had written everything Hasphat had told them, verbatim.

Varansaur stared at Oreotragus. "How…how did you…"

"Yeah," Oreotragus said. "I can write really fast. It's a talent I picked up from writing ransom notes." He turned back to Hasphat. "Go on. What else?"

"Well…that's it."

Oreotragus nearly dropped the paper. "What? That's _it?_ We fight a crazed necromancer on a bridge, get chased through a Dwemer ruin, nearly have our heads torn from our bodies by centurions, and this is all we get in return!"

"I wouldn't say that," Hasphat said, calmly. "I'm sure Caius will give you a much more substantial reward."

**X X X**

Caius quickly perused the notes Oreotragus had taken. "Yes. Very nice. This should be quite useful."

"What are you talking about?" Oreotragus shouted. "He didn't say enough to fill half a page!"

"Well, that's more than we had before."

"We?" Varansaur asked.

"Me and the Emperor." Caius explained. "He doesn't know much about Morrowind history, so he's…using me to learn more. Though, why he couldn't have started earlier…like, before he turned eighty…"

Varansaur cocked his head. Something in the tone of Caius' voice indicated that he wasn't telling the entire story. _Oh well, _he thought. _Whatever it is, it's likely to be some big, important matter of Imperial security, and he won't tell me even if I ask._

"Anyway," Caius said, "here's some gold for your trouble." He tossed Varansaur and Oreotragus each a small bag of gold. "But I've noticed something about Hasphat's notes." He held the paper up to his face again. "I've noticed that Hasphat did talk about the Sixth House," (Outside, a thunderstorm started for no apparent reason) "but he didn't say anything about the Nerevarine cult." He put the paper down again. "I need you to go to the Mages' Guild and talk to Sharn gra-Muzgob. Find out what she knows about the Nerevarine cult."

"Oh joy," Oreotragus said. "With any luck, she'll want us to run an errand. Maybe this time, we'll have to go to a _Daedric_ ruin!"

"The Mages' Guild is next door to the Fighters' Guild. Good luck!" With that, Caius opened the door, pushed Varansaur and Oreotragus out onto the street, and slammed the door shut.

Oreotragus glared back at the door. "What's his problem?"

Varansaur shrugged. "No idea."

"Me neither," Oreotragus said, "but I'm gonna find out." He pressed his large ear to the door.

"Nice going, Caius," he heard Caius grumble. "You nearly told them." He sighed. "I need to be more careful. They can't find out. Not yet."

"I knew it!" Oreotragus hissed. "There's something important that he's not telling us."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Varansaur said.

Oreotragus looked at Varansaur. "You know what your problem is? You're too trusting. I knew several people like you back in Valenwood. Their personal belongings started turning up in pawn shops within a few days after inviting me over for dinner."

"Their personal belongings invited you over for dinner?"

Oreotragus threw his hands into the air. "Oh, sure. Let's all make fun of the elf's grammar! You got anything else to point out?"

"Well," Varansaur said, "you said 'you got,' instead of 'you have.' Also, 'Oh, sure' is a sentence fragment…"

Oreotragus wrapped his hand around Varansaur's muzzle. "You're _really_ good at recognizing sarcasm, aren't you?"

"Don't we have some people to assassinate?" Varansaur said out of the side of his mouth.

Oreotragus' face brightened. "You're right. Let's go get those names!"

**X X X**

_(Less than thirty seconds later, inside the South Wall…)_

Varansaur massaged his arm where Oreotragus had grabbed him and dragged him. "I didn't think it was physically possible to run that fast."

"So, Habasi," Oreotragus said to Habasi, "do you have any more jobs for us?"

"Well," Habasi purred, "Habasi was going to have you retrieve the key to Nerano Manor, but brother Arathor already took care of that. So then, Habasi was going to have you recover some Dwemer artifacts from Habasi's friend in Hla Oad, but sister Sottilde already took care of that. So now, Habasi has a new job for you." She cleared her throat. "Ralen Hlaalo, a Hlaalu nobleman, died while you were out of town, under very mysterious circumstances. Our spies tell us that his personal bodyguards suspect foul play. He left behind some valuable vintage brandy. If you can bring Habasi a bottle of this brandy, preferably with the brandy still inside, Habasi will reward you. Okay?"

"Okay," Oreotragus said. "But first, I'd like to ask you a favor."

"What?"

"We're on the trail of five people who have been bribing a magistrate into releasing criminals. We need to find them and…show them the error of their ways, if you get my drift."

"Why are you telling Habasi about this?"

"You see," Varansaur said, "these five people are all members of the Balmora Camonna Tong, and…"

"Ooh!" Sottilde shouted from the foyer. "I can tell you who they are!"

"No," said Habasi, "they asked Habasi, Habasi will tell them."

"No!" said a blond Bosmer Varansaur didn't recognize. "Let _me_ tell them!"

Bacola Closius came thundering down the stairs. He couldn't have made more noise if he had brought a herd of guars with him. "No! Let me tell them!"

"I wanna tell them!" Phane Rielle shouted.

The South Wall was a very loud place that day, as every single member of the Balmora Thieves' Guild argued over who got to provide the lead that resulted in the assassination of five important members of the Camonna Tong. Finally, Varansaur closed his eyes, reached out, and grabbed the blond Bosmer randomly from the crowd. "I select…uh…"

"Arathor."

"I select Arathor to tell us."

"Yay!" Arathor said, bouncing on the soles of his feet. "Okay. Who are you after?"

"Well," Oreotragus said, "we know we're after a smith, a savant, a thief, a pawnbroker, and a scout. We also know that they're in the Camonna Tong, and that they're in Balmora."

"In that case," Arathor said, counting on his fingers, "you'll want Vadusa Sathryon, she's the scout. Marasa Aren is the pawnbroker. The thief would be Madrale Thirith. Sovor Trandrel is the savant, and the smith is Thanelen Velas."

Varansaur's jaw dropped. "Did you say Thanelen Velas?"

"Yes. Why?"

Varansaur shook his head. "Nothing. It's just…when I first arrived in Balmora, I sorta…intervened while he was trying to mug one of the citizens, and I doubt he's forgotten."

"Relax," said Oreotragus, patting his quiver. "I'm pretty sure I can handle some mugger."

**X X X**

Three asterisks later, Oreotragus and Varansaur were back on the street.

"All right," Oreotragus said. "Now what?"

"Well," Varansaur said, "if Ralen Hlaalo was murdered recently, his manor is probably swarming with guards, and they're not going to just let two people like us in. But, Habasi also said that Ralen Hlaalo was a Hlaalu nobleman. Maybe Nileno Dorvayn has some ideas."

**X X X**

"Of course I know what happened," Nileno Dorvayn said. "There's not a person in this city who doesn't." She put her face very close to Varansaur. "Listen very closely. Whoever did this obviously had some sinister motive. Ralen didn't have any enemies, and nothing was stolen from his manor. No, whoever did this likely wants to get rid of House Hlaalu. I can't imagine why, but there's no other explanation that I can think of. Go to Hlaalo Manor. Find out who did this. It's urgent that the killer be brought to justice, or we could all be in grave danger." She shot a look at Oreotragus. "Yes, even you."

Friendly notes from the author: Sorry for the three-month gap. With my senior year coming up, I may be even busier than ever, so I can't make any guarantees about updates. But I will try. With Azura as my witness, I will try!


	21. Murder and Death

(What's this? Can it be? Nakraf has updated "The Twin Nerevarines" again? High school and college at the same time makes for a very demanding schedule, and writer's block doesn't help much.)

(Note: The bit about Orc names? I made that up. If anyone knows anything contradictory to what I have in this story, please let me know.)

Chapter 21

"Here," Dorvayn said, handing Varansaur a scroll. "Show this to the guards at Hlaalo Manor. It's just down the street. You'll know it when you see it. It's the only building in this district of the city with two armed guards outside the door. This scroll says that you have my official permission to enter the premises and investigate."

"You just happened to have a permission slip to investigate a crime scene lying around?"

Dorvayn shrugged. "Hey, in House Hlaalu, you need to be prepared for any eventuality."

Varansaur arched the eyebrows he didn't have. "Riiiiight…"

"Now go!" Dorvayn said. "The fate of House Hlaalu, and possibly the world, rests in your hands!" She watched as Varansaur dragged Oreotragus out the door, the latter attempting to remove a stubborn blob of earwax with a throwing star. When the door closed behind them, Dorvayn turned to nobody in particular and said; "We're all gonna die!"

**X X X**

Upon setting foot outside the Hlaalu manor, they noticed that their destination was right across the street.

"Wow," Oreotragus said. "How did we miss that on our way up here?"

Dorvayn had understated about the manor being easy to spot. Not only were there two armed guards outside the door, but there were no less than seven on the balcony, ten snooping around the garbage receptacles near the building, and at least thirteen crammed onto the roof, which was surprising, as Oreotragus couldn't seem to spot a ladder anywhere. Also, the entire building was wrapped in bright yellow parchment reading "Crime Scene! Do Not Cross."

"Halt!" one of the guards outside the door said as Varansaur and Oreotragus approached.

"We wish to cross into the crime scene," Oreotragus said.

The guard exchanged a look with his partner. "Nobody may enter."

"Yes," Oreotragus said, "but this is important."

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear…_no one may enter._"

"If nobody may enter, who's investigating the crime?"

"Very funny. Get out of here."

"I'm sure you'll change your mind," Oreotragus said, "once you see _this!_"

The guard scrutinized the scroll Oreotragus had thrust in his face. "Two dozen kwama eggs, a loaf of bread, and a pound of crab meat?"

Oreotragus quickly put the grocery list away. "Whoops. Wrong pocket. Heh heh…just a second…" He began frantically searching his pockets. "Don't tell me I lost it. I know it's here somewhere!"

Varansaur groaned and pulled the permission slip out of his pocket. "Looking for this? She gave it to me, if you'll recall."

Oreotragus alternated between looking at Varansaur and looking at the guards. "Uh…yeah. What he has."

The guard skimmed the permission slip. "Sorry, pal, but Dorvayn has no more authority to let you in that your little friend here."

Varansaur was sure that the height reference was not lost on Oreotragus, and he quickly reached out and grabbed Oreotragus by the wrist to prevent him from drawing his sword. "What do you mean, she has no authority?" he asked, squeezing Oreotragus' wrist until he let go of the hilt of his sword. "Aren't you also members of House Hlaalu?"

"Yes, but…"

"And doesn't she outrank you?"

"Yeah, but…"

"So, if you don't let us in, wouldn't that be insubordination?"

"Yeah!" Oreotragus said. "I may not be the smartest guy in Tamriel," (Varansaur rolled his eyes) "but I've had enough dealings with the law to know that a guard can be suspended for that!"

"Look," the guard said. "All I know is that we received official orders from Duke Vedam Dren himself not to let anybody in. You're going to need his official permission if you want to get in. You may be able to find him in Ebonheart, on the south side of Vvardenfell."

At that moment, one of the guards looking through the trash bins walked past. As he opened the bins, Varansaur clearly heard him say; "Button, button, who's got the button?"

Two more guards came around the other side of the house.

"Uhh…the sky!" one of them said.

The other guard folded his arms across his chest. "It's raining, you moron. The sky is grey right now."

"Your eyes!"

"One: you can't see my eyes, and two, they're red!"

The first guard began to walk around in a circle. "Something blue…something blue…how about…"

"No."

"But I didn't even say anything!"

"I don't care. I know you well enough to know you'll never get it."

Varansaur and Oreotragus turned very slowly to the guard at the door. "I think you know what I'm going to say," Varansaur said.

"Uh…" the guard stammered, "well…er…all right, here's the deal. We've already searched the entire manor, but our captain told us to look busy until he receives further orders from the Duke."

Varansaur and Oreotragus didn't blink.

"Okay, I'll make a deal with you. I let you in to investigate, and you two forget what you just saw."

"Deal." Varansaur said.

**X X X**

The manor was even more of a wreck inside than it was on the outside. A shelf had been knocked over. Several bottles had fallen off and shattered, spilling what smelled like shein all over the very expensive carpet. Three guards were huddled around something in the center of the room, making detailed sketches of the crime scene. As Varansaur and Oreotragus approached, they realized that the "something" was a corpse. He was an elderly, well-dressed Dunmer. There was a very deep gash in the back of his head.

"We believe he was murdered," one of the guards said when he realized that Varansaur and Oreotragus were looking.

"No, really?" Oreotragus said. "What was your first clue?"

"Unfortunately," the guard said, "we don't have very many of those. Clues, that is. We're pretty sure that the murder weapon was an axe, but whoever did it was very thorough in the cleanup stage. No hairs, no threads, nothing."

"What about witnesses?" Varansaur asked.

"We questioned the entire city. Nobody remembered seeing anyone come up this way during the time we think he was murdered."

"Actually," another guard said, "there is someone we haven't talked to. Mr. Hlaalo's servant, Uryne Nirith, is here, in the manor, but she won't talk to anyone."

"Have you considered her as a suspect?" Varansaur asked.

"She was our first suspect, since she lives in the house. I think that's why she won't talk to us. But we know it wasn't her."

"How?"

"She fell and broke her arm a week ago. To pull this crime off, she would've needed to use her left hand. There's no way she could've struck with enough force to split Hlaalo's skull with her left hand. So it couldn't have been her. She's in her room, on the second floor. You can talk to her, if you like, but I doubt you'll get any farther than we did."

So Varansaur and Oreotragus started up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, Oreotragus leaned over to Varansaur and said; "Great distraction, by the way."

"What?"

Oreotragus produced a brown corked bottle, labeled "Hlaalo, 3E 404," from inside his cuirass. "Remember how Habasi said she wanted a bottle of Hlaalo's vintage brandy? Well, while the guards were busy talking to you, I just…nicked one."

Varansaur looked at the bottle. "I don't know much about alcohol, but 22 years old hardly seems 'vintage' to me. That was the year I was born, so I don't really want to think about things from that year being 'vintage.'"

Oreotragus stopped walking. "You were born in 3E 404?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That's the year I was born. And you told me back in the Ald'ruhn Mages' Guild that you were born under the sign of the Tower, like me. What day?"

"The twelfth."

Oreotragus nearly dropped the brandy. "Holy crap. We were born on the exact same day."

"Huh," Varansaur said. "That is weird."

There then followed a long silence as the two companions tried to figure out if what they had just discovered had any real significance. It was then that they became aware of someone sobbing uncontrollably. Oreotragus, who had the larger ears of the two, traced the sound to a heavy wooden door very close to where they were standing.

Varansaur knocked on the door. "Ms. Nirith?"

"Go away!" came a woman's voice from behind the door.

"We're not guards," Oreotragus said. "We just want to know what happened."

"That's what the guards said!" Nirith shouted.

"Listen," Varansaur said, "we're independent contractors hired by House Hlaalu to investigate this murder. If you tell us what happened, maybe we can make sure this never happens again."

There was a brief pause; then, the door creaked inward ever so slightly. "How can I be sure you'll be able to do it?"

At that moment, Oreotragus had an idea. "How well educated are you on foreign affairs?"

"Fairly well," Nirith replied. "My master would always let me read the newspapers after he was done with them. Why?"

"Do you recall reading, a few months ago, about a vicious pirate in Valenwood? They called him Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued. You ever hear about him?"

Horror-stricken at where Oreotragus seemed to be going with this, Varansaur clamped his hand over Oreotragus' mouth. Oreotragus grabbed one of the scales on the back of Varansaur's hand and bent it back the wrong way, forcing the Argonian to release his hold.

"Yes," Nirith said, "I remember him. They said he was so suave, he could sweet-talk his way out of being arrested. When they brought in guards who were too dense to be sweet-talked, he ran away from them. When they brought in guards that were fast and agile enough to chase him, he simply ran them through."

"That's the guy. Then, did you notice that one day, he was miraculously captured and convicted?"

"Yes…"

"Well," Oreotragus said, "who do you think caught him?"

The door opened slightly farther.

"So," Oreotragus concluded, "if I can catch that guy, whoever did this should be a cakewalk."

Nirith opened the door the rest of the way. Varansaur estimated her age at around thirty, although she had a face that looked 12 and 73 at the same time. Her clothes consisted of a simple white shirt and a plain yellow skirt. "All right," she said. "I'll tell you as much as I can."

Uryne Nirith's room was very cramped. The furniture consisted of a bed, a nightstand, and a shelf screwed onto the wall. The shelf seemed on the verge of collapse, which was hardly surprising, considering it was supporting a book that was as thick as Varansaur's thigh. The book was labeled "A Dance in Fire."

Oreotragus examined the massive tome. "Is this all one book?"

"Actually, it's seven," Nirith replied. "The volumes are usually published separately, but I figured nobody would be able to lose this."

_Or lift it, _Oreotragus thought.

"So, can you tell us what happened?" Varansaur asked.

Nirith sat down on the bed. "I'll do what I can."

"I won't ask you to go on if you don't think you can. This has to be very stressful for you." He turned to Oreotragus. "Could you please shut the door?"

Oreotragus shut the door, grumbling something along the lines of "I'm not your slave."

"Now," Varansaur said, "what happened?"

"I was upstairs, in my master's room, cleaning, when I heard the door open. We weren't expecting visitors, so I crept downstairs, just as the door closed. At that moment, the invisibility spell wore off on the man who had opened it. He had an ill look to him, so I hid around the wall. I followed him downstairs, where my master was re-organizing his bottles of brandy. I tried to call out…but my voice caught in my throat. He…he…took out his axe…it was a Dwemer war axe, I recognized the color of the metal…and he…he…" Nirith started crying again. "I'm sorry, I…"

"You don't need to go any further," Varansaur said.

"Actually," Oreotragus said, "there is one more thing we need you to tell us. You must have gotten a clear view of the man who did it. If you could describe him to us…"

"Well," Nirith said, "he was a Dunmer man, about 5' 8"…and he had bright red hair. That was the most obvious thing about him. There was a lot of it, and he had it all tied up and piled on top of his head."

Varansaur started. Nirith's description of the murder seemed eerily familiar…but it had to be a coincidence. There was no way Thanelen Velas could be involved in _this._

"I also noticed that he had this weird tattoo on the back of his neck. It was in the shape of a dragon, lying on its back."

Oreotragus put his quill back into his pocket. "There," he said, holding up a piece of parchment. "A word-by-word record of what she said."

Nirith spun around and looked at Oreotragus. "Word by word?"

Varansaur shrugged. "He writes quickly. That's why I keep him around."

"Well," Oreotragus said, "you've been a…" Oreotragus opened the door to leave…and three guards, who had up until that moment had their ears pressed to the door, came tumbling into the room.

The guards looked up at Oreotragus and Varansaur. Nobody could really see their faces behind their helmets, but Varansaur guessed that they were blushing…if dark elves really did blush.

"Uh…" one of the guards said, "…we, uh…we heard the door open, and…we figured that you had convinced her to talk to you, so…"

"So you spied on us," Varansaur said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well," the second guard said, "yeah. Let's call it that. And now, if you two will accompany us downstairs, we would like to discuss this matter with you."

**X X X**

"So," the first guard said when the five of them arrived back downstairs in the room where Hlaalo had been murdered, "you two have been given a description of the murderer. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Varansaur said. "Ms. Nirith says he was a Dunmer man with bright red hair tied up in a pile on top of his head, and a tattoo on the back of his neck of a dragon on its back."

"Yes," the guard said, "that's what I thought I heard her say. The description sounds like Thanelen Velas, the smith at the local branch of the Camonna Tong, especially the part about the tattoo."

"Why?"

"Well, the dragon is the symbol of the Empire. A dragon on its back, however, has a very different meaning. Dragons never lie on their backs, unless they are dead. The Camonna Tong has chosen this symbol as their insignia to show their utter disdain for the Empire."

"I knew it!" Varansaur said. "I thought her description sounded like Velas."

"Yes," the guard said. "Unfortunately, her testimony is the only proof we have, and it's not likely to stand up well in court, especially since nobody else saw him even come near the manor. Maybe, if we could somehow get hold of his axe…

"Anyway," the guard said, turning to Oreotragus, "we'll need that transcription you made, so we can have an official record of Nirith's statement."

Oreotragus raised an eyebrow. "Just how much did you guys listen to, anyway?"

"The whole thing," the guard replied. "And, since you were so helpful to our investigation, if you give me that bottle of brandy right now, we won't mention that you stole it when we file our report."

Reluctantly, Oreotragus handed the bottle to the guard. It wasn't until he and Varansaur were outside and well away from the manor that Oreotragus' glum expression turned into an evil grin. "Good thing I didn't say anything about the _other_ bottle I stole."

**X X X**

The next stop on our heroes' list was the Balmora Mages' Guild. It was a two story building right next door to the Balmora Fighters' Guild, and seemed to be its mirror image, except that the wooden sign hanging over the door hand an image of an eye painted on it, whereas the sign over the door of the Fighters' Guild had a sword. Inside, Varansaur and Oreotragus found a Dunmer woman in a purple robe with gold trim, talking to a female Khajiit in a black robe.

"If you want to reach the rank of Journeywoman, Ajira," the Dunmer said, "I'll need you to write two reports: one on the magical properties of native plants; the other on the magical properties of native fungi."

Ajira took a step back. "What? But you only made Galbedir write _one_ report, on the properties of the skins of native animals!"

"I know," the Dunmer said. "But one of the skins she had to obtain to study was scamp skin, and that's not easy to come by. You won't have to fight the stoneflowers to get a petal sample."

"Excuse me," Varansaur said, "but we're looking for a…what was that name again?"

"Sharn gra-Muzgob," Oreotragus said.

"Oh," the Dunmer replied, with a look on her face that suggested Varansaur had just tracked guar fertilizer into the clean room. "She's downstairs."

"What's wrong with Sharn gra-Muzgob?" Varansaur asked.

""I think she's a necromancer," the Dunmer whispered, "but I can't pin anything on her."

"Great," Oreotragus said, as they made their way downstairs. "A bookworm fighter and a suspected necromancer. Why can't we ever get stuck with someone who is in _good_ favor with their guild?"

"Because…that would make sense?" Varansaur offered.

Downstairs, the Mages' guild had a large room divided into sections by canvas screens. In the far left corner, a Dunmer man was holding a dagger and a long blue crystal in one hand and chanting in some weird language. In the center of the room, seated on the edge of a large, round planter, an Altmer woman was slicing a strange, spiky root vegetable. In the near right corner, away from everyone else, an Orc woman was seated on a wooden chest, reading a book.

Varansaur gestured to the Orc with his head. "That must be Sharn gra-Muzgob."

"How do you figure that?" Oreotragus asked.

"Because gra-Muzgob is an Orcish name. An Orc's surname is derived from the first name of that Orc's father, if it's a man, or mother, if it's a woman, preceded by the prefix 'gro-' or 'gra-', which are the masculine and feminine forms of the Orcish word for 'of.' So, Muzgob was probably the name of Sharn's mother. If Sharn has a daughter, her surname would be gra-Sharn. Plus, the Altmer is making a concerted effort not to look at her, so it's probably a safe bet that she's the one we're looking for."

Oreotragus blinked several times. "How do you know so much about Orcs?"

Varansaur shrugged. "When you spend your prison sentence in the Wrothgarian Mountains, you're bound to pick up a few tidbits of Orcish culture."

They started towards Sharn. The Orc looked up, looked back at her book, did a double-take, and quickly snapped the book shut and tossed it in the chest on which she had been sitting. Varansaur only got a brief glimpse of the spine, but the book appeared to be called "Legions of the Dead."

"Sharn gra-Muzgob?" Varansaur asked.

"Yes," she croaked in reply. "Caius said you'd be coming. I'm prepared to tell you what I know, but first, I need you to run an errand for me."

Oreotragus rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Well," Varansaur said, "it can't be any worse than what Hasphat had us do. What do you want?"

"I need you to go to the Andrano Ancestral Tomb and bring me back the skull of Llevule Andrano."

There was a silence. A long silence. "Oh," Oreotragus finally managed to squeak. "Is that all?"

"That's just great," Varansaur said, "because I've always wondered what grave robbing would be like, and now I have the chance to find out! Because, you know, I've missed incarceration so much."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Oreotragus said. "I've never been worried about the law. But Dunmer are fiercely protective of their dead. They probably have the toughest, meanest guards in Tamriel reserved for guarding tombs."

"Not likely," gra-Muzgob said. "But it would still be a good idea to take this with you." She held out a dagger, which Varansaur took. The blade was long for a dagger, and was engraved with flames, which actually seemed to be flickering.

"Wow," Varansaur said. "Thanks. But, why are you giving me this? It has to be worth a fortune."

"Actually," gra-Muzgob said, "I bought it at a pawn shop. The reason I'm giving this to you is because the tomb is full of dead people."

Varansaur blinked. "No, really? A tomb full of dead people? Who'd have thought?"

"These aren't ordinary dead people. They're…uh…_operative._"

"They're what?"

"Operative. Mutable. Peripatetic."

Oreotragus looked at Varansaur. "Are those real words?"

"Okay, fine, they're undead!"

Varansaur cocked his head. "I thought necromancy was illegal in Morrowind."

"It is," Sharn replied uneasily. "But that doesn't stop the dead from re-animating themselves when they feel their tomb has been disturbed. Ghosts are made out of ectoplasm, which gives them immunity to normal weapons. That's why I've given you an enchanted blade. Use it well."

"Fine," Varansaur sighed. "Where is this tomb?"

"Take the road south past Pelagiad. Just before the fork, where the road goes southwest towards Seyda Neen and southwest towards Vivec City, you should see a door just off the road. That's the place."

So, Varansaur and Oreotragus left the Mages' Guild and headed for Pelagiad, wondering just what obscure side quests would distract them when they got there.

(I really shouldn't have to tell you to review, but the lack of reviews has prompted me to add this little reminder to the end of the chapter.


	22. Criminals Monthly

(IT LIVES! It's alive! IT'S ALIVE!)

(Pester: "Button, button, who's got the button" is a game in which one person hides something (the titular "button," though it's not always a button), and other people have to find it.)

Chapter 22 (holy freaking crap!)

"One second," Oreotragus said, as they passed by the South Wall. "We may need some supplies, and I should probably drop off this brandy before I'm tempted to drink it."

Varansaur thought briefly about Oreotragus not drinking alcohol. It was the best thought he had ever had since he had arrived in Morrowind. "Very well," he said.

"You talk to Sottilde about supplies," Oreotragus said, opening the door. "I'll talk to Habasi."

The two walked inside. Varansaur turned to Sottilde, as Oreotragus disappeared down the hall in search of Habasi.

"Whaddya want?" Sottilde said.

"We're going on a…journey," Varansaur said, "and we need some supplies."

_Profit! _Sottilde thought. She quickly unbuttoned her robe and held it open, (yes, she was wearing a shirt underneath it, you sick freaks) revealing rows of various weapons. "What can I hook you up with?"

"Actually," Varansaur said, "I think we're all set with weaponry."

"Oh," Sottilde said, somewhat disappointed, closing her robe.

"But I could probably use some armor," Varansaur said quickly, seeing the look on Sottilde's face.

She immediately brightened. "Of course!" She reached into a trunk behind her and pulled out what looked at first to be a long, coiled length of chain. "This," she said, unrolling it on the floor, revealing that it was a short, chainmail cuirass, "is an Imperial chain cuirass."

Varansaur's face didn't show it, but he had begun to analyze this little shopping spree like a chess game now. As one of a very select few Argonians in his village who spoke Tamrielic, he had dealt with practically every merchant who passed through Black Marsh in the last ten years. He knew that, although this was decent armor, Sottilde was trying to make it sound more impressive than it actually was, in the hopes that Varansaur would overpay. _It's not going to be that easy, _he thought.

"And what, may I ask, is so special about this? Looks like a big length of chain to me." Bartering rule #1: Don't seem too eager to buy what's being offered. Merchants _hate_ to lose a potential sale, and if you seem only partially interested, there's a very good chance in their eyes that that will happen, and they may lower the price to get you to buy it.

Sottilde scoffed. "A big length of chain? I'll have you know that this is the armor of choice for the Imperial Legion!"

Varansaur fondly recalled his brief tenure in prison. Yes, he had seen guards wearing armor like that. Just about every one of them had been a bottom-rung prisoner feeder who was constantly grumbling about how his job was infinitely worse than the last bottom-rung prisoner feeder who had grumbled about how his job was the worst in the universe.

"Is that why all the _important_ Legion members wear plated steel?" Varansaur asked, sarcastically. Bartering rule #2: If the merchant thinks you know more about her wares than she does, she'll be less inclined to make stuff up to try to impress you.

"No," Sottilde said, "that's only because it's shinier and more expensive. How often do you see any of _them_ fighting?"

"All the time," Varansaur replied. Rule #3: Call their bluffs. "I remember one time, this big prisoner at the end of the hall, a fellow by the name of Hordak gro-Lugzub, escaped from his cell, and…"

"Okay!" Sottilde interrupted. "I get it."

"So, how much do _you_ think it's worth?"

"Well…how much do _you_ think it's worth?"

Varansaur chuckled. Apparently, Sottilde was trying to use rule # 4: Always let the other person make the first offer. She wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"I asked you first," he said.

Sottilde sighed. "I'll tell you what. Guild members get a ten percent discount, so…900 drakes."

Varansaur tried desperately to hide his indignation. There was no way that armor was worth 900 drakes, let alone the thousand that she claimed was its original price. "Really?" he said, calmly. "Because I could've sworn there was a rule against robbing Guild members."

"855 then."

"How 'bout 100?"

"What are you, nuts? I'm not letting this go for that little."

So, then, you _don't _want my money?"

"I didn't say that. I'll let it go for…810 drakes."

" I don't think you quite grasp the concept. 125."

"765"

"150"

"720"

Varansaur was about to respond, dragging this chapter even longer, when he suddenly had an idea. "Tell you what. Throw in a shield, and I'll pay you a full .8 hundred."

"Sold!" Sottilde said, clapping her hands, and pulling a large, spiked shield from the chest. She gave the shield and the armor to Varansaur. "Thank you," she said.

"Oh no," Varansaur said, wryly, dropping eighty gold into her hands. "Thank _you._"

"What…you…"

"I said point eight hundred. That's eighty."

Sottilde stood, open-mouthed, astounded that she hadn't caught that. Varansaur slipped the cuirass onto his body and said, "If Oreotragus asks, I'm outside."

**X X X**

So with that out of the way, Varansaur and Oreotragus left for the city of Pelagiad. The city had no Mages' Guild, and was too small to have a silt strider port, so the only way to get there was to walk.

"Sottilde seemed pretty distraught," Oreotragus said, as they passed Fort Moonmoth. "What did you do to her?"

"Long story," Varansaur said. "Basically, I conned her into selling me this cuirass and shield for only eighty drakes."

Oreotragus smirked. "And you didn't want to join the Thieves' Guild."

"Don't start with me," Varansaur said. "What about you? What did _you_ accomplish?"

"I have another job, which just happens to be in Pelagiad." He took an old "WANTED" poster from his pocket. The picture was of a Bosmer with very large, nearly completely black eyes. Below it was written; "for petty larceny."

"This is Bragor," Oreotragus said. "He stole some expensive shoes, and was arrested for it. Habasi wants him released."

"But, if he broke the law…"

"We're the _Thieves' _Guild, remember? We break that particular law all the time. Anyway, we have reason to believe that his arresting officer planted evidence, but no proof. But Habasi thinks we can find proof that she and the local trader are involved with an illegal smuggling ring."

"So, she wants us to find the evidence, present it to the arresting officer, and threaten to expose her unless she releases Bragor?"

"Pretty much."

"But that's blackmail! That's an even worse crime than theft!"

"You don't know Shadbak gra-Burbug like Habasi does. She's deathly afraid of losing her position. We sneak into the trader's shop, find something contraband, and promise Shadbak that we'll keep quiet about it if she lets Bragor go."

Varansaur looked at Oreotragus. "That…is the _stupidest_ idea I have ever heard!"

"Do you know a better way to do it?"  
"No, but…wait…do you know where we are?"

"Of course!" Oreotragus said. "We're…" He looked around. They were in a green valley between two grey mountain ridges. There were various colorful flowers all over. The dirt path on which they were traveling had come to a three-way intersection. There was a wooden signpost at the fork, with signs indicating directions to Balmora, Pelagiad, Vivec, Ebonheart, and Seyda Neen. However, all of the directional signs were scattered on the ground, and the post was broken in half.

"Geez," Oreotragus said. "You'd think they would've replaced this sign before it fell apart."

"No," Varansair said, picking up a six-inch splinter. "This wood is dry. Someone cut the sign down with an axe."

"Who would do something like that?"

"Hell if I know," said a new voice. Varansaur and Oreotragus spun around. A rather tall Dunmer was standing behind them, wearing very elegant clothes. He was wearing several ruby rings that were the exact same color as his eyes. "Don't be afraid," he said. "There are bad people on this road, since this is the most direct route between Balmora and Pelagiad. Why, just the other day, I saw this guy, very sharp dresser, get bludgeoned on the head by this creepy guy with no shirt. The good news is that you met me, Nels Llendo, first."

Oreotragus scratched his head. "Nels Llendo…I've heard that name before…"

"So you have heard of me, the famed highwayman, Nels Llendo."

"You really like the sound of your name, don't you?" Varansaur said.

"I can keep you safe from these bad people," Llendo said, trying (very poorly, in Varansaur's opinion) to pretend he hadn't heard Varansaur, "for the modest fee of fifty drakes apiece."

"Oh!" Oreotragus suddenly exclaimed. "I know where I've heard your name before. You were featured in Criminals' Monthly, in the First Seed, 3E 420 issue, when they listed the 'Top Fifty Criminals in Tamriel.'"

"That's right," Llendo said, beaming. "Are you a subscriber?"

"I'm a regular contributor," Oreotragus responded. "As I recall, you were only number four."

Llendo took a step back. "Only number four?" he sputtered. "Do you know how tough it is just to make it into the Top 10 on that list?"

"Yes," Oreotragus replied. "Do you recall the names of the guys who beat you?"

"Well," Llendo said, "if I, Nels Llendo, recall correctly…Number Three was Jim Stacey, head of the Thieves' Guild…Number Two was Orvas Dren…and Number One was the rarely seen but highly feared Oreotragus, the scourge of Valenwood!" he said, enthusiastically. "Also called Oreotragus the shadow. Oreotragus the…"

"Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued?" Varansaur offered.

"Yes! You subscribe to CM, too?"

"I'm not a criminal," Varansaur said. "I just associate with one."

Llendo looked confused. "So then, how do you know that name?"

Oreotragus rolled up the sleeve on his left arm. Varansaur winced at what he saw. He vividly remembered his own branding after his arrest. The Empire branded all arrested criminals on the inside of their left arm with a letter signifying what they had done. Varansaur remembered that the C (for contraband) had to be applied several times, as his scales seemed strangely resistant to the iron. From what he had learned from talking to the other prisoners, thieves were branded with a T, murderers with an M, and pirates with a P. Oreotragus had a T, an M, a P, a C, a D, an A, and an X. Varansaur could only imagine what the X would've stood for.

"Wow," Llendo said. "You got around a lot. A thief, a murderer, a pirate, an arsonist…"

Varansaur shook his head. "Wait…_arsonist?_ Well, you certainly failed to mention _that _when we met."

"Well," Llendo said, "that's certainly impressive, but I still think you could use my help in…"

In the time it took Varansaur to blink, Oreotragus' sword was at Nels Llendo's throat. "Tell you what," Oreotragus said. "You give _us_ fifty drakes each, and Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued will keep _you_ safe."

Llendo looked around. "Is he here? _The_ number one criminal, here in Vvardenfell?"

Varansaur shook his head again. "My gods," he said to Oreotragus. "He makes _you_ look intelligent."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that," Oreotragus said.

"So, where is he?" Llendo asked.

Oreotragus groaned. "You idiot!" he said, rolling up his other sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his bicep of a snake holding a knife in its tail crawling through a hoop. "I _am_ Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued!"

Llendo's mouth fell open. He struggled to speak, but all that came out was "Hggh…khhhagghhhhh…thibb…" and then, he fainted.

"Well," Oreotragus said, kneeling next to Llendo. "That was easily the most pathetic excuse for a highwayman I've ever seen. I don't know how he made it onto that list in the first place, let alone the top four."

"So, what do we do now?" Varansaur asked.

"Well," Oreotragus said, "since the s'wit tried to cheat us out of our money, I say, we cheat him out of everything he's got." He took a cloth sack from Llendo's belt. "This should be enough to rent some rooms in Pelagiad."

"I'll take that," Varansaur said, taking the sack from Oreotragus' hand. "I'll handle the finances. You handle being the comic relief."

Oreotragus gave Varansaur a very dark look, but continued to rifle through Llendo's pockets. "Hmm…let's see…what has it gots in its pocketses?"

Varansaur cocked his head. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Long story," Oreotragus said. "Don't ask." He began pulling stuff out of Llendo's pockets. "Hmm…knife…ring…amulet…pre-autographed picture of himself…fake disguise…armorer's hammer…pre-autographed picture of himself…bottle of hair gel…pre-autographed picture of himself…magic scroll…bottle of hair gel…pre-autographed picture of himself…bottle of hair gel…"

"Wait a minute," Varansaur said. "Go back to that magic scroll."

Oreotragus pulled the nondescript scroll out of the pile he had made behind him and unrolled it. There was something written on it, but it appeared to be in a strange, ancient language.

"Well?" Varansaur said. "What does it say?"

"I don't know!" Oreotragus said. "It's in…Daedric, or something."

"Well give it to me," Varansaur said. "Maybe someone in the Mages' Guild can make sense of it. At the very least, we could sell it."

Oreotragus gave Llendo an appraising look. "Well, I think we got everything but the clothes on his back." With that, he knelt and began to unlace Llendo's fancy shoes.

Varansaur cocked his head again. "What are you doing?"

Oreotragus undid Llendo's shiny belt.

"You wouldn't!"

The next thing Varansaur knew, Llendo's expensive pants were in a heap on the ground, revealing a pair of bright pink underwear, and Oreotragus was busy unbuttoning Llendo's shirt.

"You would."

"Here," Oreotragus said, handing the fancy clothes to Varansaur. "Put these on."

Varansaur looked at the clothes in Oreotragus' hands, and then at the noticeably plainer clothes he was wearing. "What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing?"

"Nothing, if you don't mind people calling you names like 'peasant' and 'convict.' Those are standard-issue prison clothes, possibly the cheapest in Tamriel. If you want anyone to take you seriously, you'll ditch those and put these on."

Varansaur took the clothes from Oreotragus. "I never saw the point of wearing clothes."

"It's an Imperial thing," Oreotragus said. "Don't question it."

"Fine," Varansaur said as he slipped behind a large rock to change. When he came back out, he looked as if he had just received a visit from the popular "Imperial Eye for the Argonian Guy" program. The clothes fit surprisingly well, considering that they had been made for an elf, rather than a 6 foot-tall lizard man…except for one thing.

"You do know that your pants are on backwards, right?"

"I know," Varansaur said. "These new pants don't have a hole for my tail in the back." He threw his old clothes at Llendo's feet. "I think he should have something to wear back into town when he regains consciousness."

"You're also not wearing his shoes," Oreotragus remarked.

Varansaur looked at the shoes in his hand. Then he looked at his massive lizard feet. "Somehow, I don't think that would work."

**X X X**

Nels Llendo slowly opened his eyes. He had been in the middle of a very pleasant dream about being on a deserted island with several beautiful women. But as he blinked, the scaly, green visage of a very grim Argonian swam into focus. Llendo shut his eyes very quickly and made a whimpering noise.

"Welcome back to the land of the living!" a new voice said heartily. Llendo felt someone push him into a sitting position. It was at this point he realized that he was feeling rather drafty. He opened his eyes and saw that the Argonian was wearing his clothes, and that he, Nels Llendo, was in his underwear.

"Why am I naked?" he asked.

"Because I gave your clothes to Varansaur," Oreotragus said, stepping into Llendo's field of vision. "Don't worry, we left you something." He nudged the pile of cheap clothes with his toe. "Put them on."

"What?" Llendo said, recovering himself. "But…they…they're downright common! What kind of designer label is 'Weird Lots'?"

In an instant, Llendo felt the cold metal of Oreotragus' sword under his chin. He felt the hair on his arm stand up, and he got the feeling that this sword was more that just sharp.

"Okay, Mr. 'I'm so important'," Oreotragus said, "here's the way things are gonna work. You put on the clothes and take us to Pelagiad. Or, you refuse the clothes and take us to Pelagiad in your tightie-pinkies there." He gestured to Llendo's underdrawers. "_Or, _you piss me off, and I get a new trophy for my wall."

Llendo swallowed very carefully and began to slip the pants on over his legs. "Why, this is a nice cut," he said in a lame attempt to appear casual in a very awkward situation. "Yes sir, I don't normally go for the Argonian look, but this just might work for me."

"Oh," Varansaur said, "we forgot to tell you: there's another condition to our little deal, namely that you don't speak. At all."

Llendo blinked twice and finished dressing in silence. As he stood up, Oreotragus suddenly whipped out his bow and fired an arrow past Llendo's left ear. There was a loud squeal as the arrow struck a large rat in the distance.

"Yeah," Oreotragus said, going to retrieve the arrow. "Just a reminder, I'm also an archer, so if you try to escape…"

Llendo slowly nodded. He turned in the general direction of Pelagiad and began to walk. Varansaur and Oreotragus followed. As they walked, Llendo snuck a glance at his captors and noticed his scroll protruding from Varansaur's belt. An evil grin spread across his face. He stopped walking and snatched the scroll away.

"Hey!" Varansaur shouted.

Llendo unrolled the scroll and began to read aloud. "_Web oht ekem!"_

"Stop him!" Oreotragus yelled.

"_Yoodt_ _payem oht neht!_"

Varansaur and Oreotragus each grabbed one of Llendo's arms and tried to wrestle the scroll away from him. But as Llendo cried out "_Yahkem oht yoodt!"_ the scroll disintegrated in his hands and formed a purple egg-shaped magic field around his body. He shrugged off Varansaur and Oreotragus and began to run.

"Get back here!" Oreotragus shouted. He put an arrow to his bow and fired. The arrow sailed through the air towards Llendo's shoulder…and bounced harmlessly off the magic barrier.

"Well," Oreotragus said, dejectedly, "that didn't quite go according to plan. Maybe CM had a good reason to rank him at #4."

"Hey wait a minute," Varansaur said. "He never changed direction. He's still going to Pelagiad!"

"Quick!" Oreotragus shouted. "Follow that giant purple egg! Wow, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say."

Varansaur drew his shortsword and took off after the purple egg retreating in the distance. "Get back here!" he shouted.

Llendo responded by raising his right am and extending a single finger.

"That does it," Oreotragus said, quickening his pace. "He's dead."

Nels Llendo chanced a glance over his shoulder. He should've known better than to try and outrun an Argonian. Because his kind walked on their toes, they effectively had longer legs, and thus, larger strides. Llendo had just enough time to acknowledge that the Argonian was closing the gap between them rather quickly before he tripped over a rock and began to roll down a hill. The shield protected him against any serious injury, and as he stopped rolling, he saw an amulet hidden in the reeds in front of him. _Of course! _He thought. _I, Nels Llendo, hid my recall amulet in this swamp! _He quickly slipped the amulet over his head and pushed the sapphire in the center. In an instant, he was whisked away to the spot he had magically marked in the Halfway Tavern in Pelagiad the day before. By the time Oreotragus and Varansaur came over the hill, he was long gone.

Oreotragus scanned the horizon with his bow. "Where is he? Where'd he go?"

Varansaur looked around. "You'd think a guy in a giant purple egg would be hard to lose."

Oreotragus pointed to the south. "There! There's a silhouette on that hill. Looks humanoid. Hey! You!" he shouted.

The figure on the hill turned in his direction and raised one arm. It was hard to tell from that distance, but Varansaur was pretty sure that all five fingers were extended this time.

"Is he taunting us?" Oreotragus asked.

Varansaur peered harder at the figure. "I don't think that's him," he said. "It looks like a woman."

"Maybe she saw where he went. Come on!"

Varansaur and Oreotragus sheathed their weapons and jogged over to the figure on the hillside. Sure enough, it was a woman. A Breton woman, to be exact, with thick red hair and very expensive taste in clothing. She looked up at the approaching travelers and said; "Excuse me, have either of you seen a bandit go by?"

Varansaur was caught off guard. He blinked a couple times before saying "We were just about to ask you the same question."

"Oh, you've seen him? He stole my jewels."

Varansaur couldn't help but notice that she didn't sound indignant, angry, or upset in any way. In fact, she seemed happy.

"Jewels, eh?" Oreotragus said. "How much jewelry are we talking?"

The woman snapped out of her trance. "Huh? Oh, the jewelry's not important. I'm more concerned about what happened to him…him and his eyes…and that hair…and…" and then she just stared into space.

Varansaur cocked his head. "Yes?"

The woman shook her head. "Oh, sorry. You know, I don't usually go for Dunmer, but after he robbed me, we started talking, and there was just something about his voice…he just…"

Oreotragus looked at Varansaur. "Come on, she's no help. Let's leave her alone with her fantasies."

"Wait," Varansaur said, "maybe she knows how to get to Pelagiad from here."

"Oh, it's just over that hill." She pointed at a nearby hill. "You'll know it when you see it. When you get there, could you look for him at the Halfway Tavern? He said he hangs out there a lot."

"Why can't you do it?" Oreotragus asked.

"I'm too shy."

"We're on some important Imperial business," Oreotragus replied. "We're not here to play matchmaker. Come on, Varansaur."

As Varansaur and Oreotragus started off, the woman said "I do wish I could remember his name, though. It was Nel…O…something."

Varansaur stopped in mid-stride. "Nel…O…something?"

"Yes," she said, not even looking at Varansaur. "I'm pretty sure it began with Nel. I would've paid more attention, but I was too captivated by his eyes…"

Oreotragus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You know, on second thought, maybe we should help her out."

"Oh thank you!" she shouted. She pulled an intricately embroidered black and yellow glove from her slender hand and gave it to Varansaur.

"How come everyone always gives things to you?" Oreotragus said.

Varansaur looked at the Elf. "Because I'm not a walking mug shot, Mr. 'Greatest Criminal in Tamriel.'"

"If you find him," the woman said, "please give this to him. Tell him it's a token from Maurrie Aurmine. I just hope he paid more attention when I told him my name than I did when he told me his."

Varansaur tucked the glove into his pocket. As he and Oreotragus set off for Pelagiad, Oreotragus looked back at her and said "By the way, if you're in the market for handsome bandits…"

"She's out of your league," Varansaur said quickly, grabbing Oreotragus by the collar and pulling him away.

"What do you know about my league?"

"She's probably looking for something a bit…taller. Like, say, a mouse." With a chuckle, Varansaur took off running for Pelagiad.

"Why you…!" Oreotragus drew his sword and ran after Varansaur.

(And now, I must leave you again. I should be back soon, but I can't guarantee that I won't go an entire year without updating again. Feel free to review your hearts out.)


	23. Treasure Hunts

_Oreotragus_ _jumped as the door suddenly banged open, revealing a very angry (and possibly inebriated) Qualergi standing in the doorway._

"_Have you been playing with my arrows?" Qualergi shouted._

_Oreotragus_ _tried to answer, but all that came out was a fearful whimper. He knew full well that when his brother was in this state, there was nothing Oreotragus could say that wouldn't end in violence._

"_You little son of a nix-hound!"__Qualergi shouted, grabbing Oreotragus by the collar and slamming him forcefully against the wall. "I told you not to touch my stuff!"_

"_No…please…don't…" Oreotragus was on the verge of tears._

"_Don't what? Oh, are you gonna cry? Of course you are. You're a baby, and that's all you'll ever be." He threw Oreotragus to the floor. "Do you think I _wanted _to take you in after Mother died? No. I did it because on her death bed, she gave me this squirming pink sausage with arms and said 'Take care of your brother, Qualgeri.' And for seven years, I have put up with your nonsense, for her sake. Because she forgave you for killing her when you were born." He took several deep breaths, and then slumped against the wall. "You know what? It's my fault. I should've told her right there that I couldn't do it." He looked Oreotragus in the eye. "Come on."_

"_What?"_

"_We're going to play a game." He took Oreotragus by the hand and led him into the hills behind their house._

"_What kind of game?" Oreotragus was very excited. His brother hadn't played a game with him in three years._

_Qualergi pointed to a door protruding from the side of one of the hills. "Treasure hunt. There's some ancient pirate treasure in there. Go get it."_

_Oreotragus jumped in the air, threw the door open, and ran inside. Qualergi waited a few seconds, to ensure that Oreotragus was out of earshot, before taking an amulet from his pocket and placing it on the door. The door was enveloped in a purple aura, and the latch clicked shut._

_Oreotragus was certain he had passed this particular passage before. This didn't look like the kind of place that pirates buried their treasure in any of the stories he'd heard. "I'd better use my Beggar's Nose power." He ran his hands over his face, leaving brief shining white streaks, and inhaled deeply. "There's someone behind me." He turned around to see a tall figure in a yellow hood standing in a corner. "That must be one of the pirates!" He picked up a long rock lying on the ground and brandished it like a sword. "Avast, ye scurvy dog!"_

_The hooded figure turned slowly in Oreotragus' direction and raised its arms. All four of them. It slowly glided towards Oreotragus. In the flickering torchlight, he could just make out the image of a skull floating high in the hood, apparently not attached to anything._

_Qualergi listened to the sounds of Oreotragus screaming and pounding on the locked door of the tomb. "I'll go and save him in a few minutes," he said to himself. "But right now, he needs to learn some respect for other peoples' property."_

CHAPTER 23

Oreotragus pushed open the door to the Halfway Tavern in Pelagiad. He still had one hand on his sword, and was looking murderously at Varansaur, who was trying very hard not to laugh. The Argonian suddenly stopped walking and put out a hand to stop Oreotragus. The tavern had exposed wooden beams in plaster walls. Various chairs were shoved haphazardly around wooden tables with smoky lamps set roughly in the center. The place smelled of stale mazte, unwashed bodies, and whatever they were stewing for dinner. The patrons were a wide mixture of people, from the casual travelers who had come in just to get some shelter, to the hardcore drinkers, who were slouched over their ale mugs and looked as if it would take an act of the gods to part them from their business. There were also a good many people who came in for social reasons. Most of these people were at the bar, clustered around one very loud, very familiar-looking Dunmer. One of them, a Khajiit in a black robe, looked up at Varansaur, who put a finger to his nonexistent lips. The Khajiit smiled, winked, and returned to listening to Nels Llendo's story.

"And then," Llendo shouted, "their leader…did I mention he was at least eight feet tall? Anyway, he drew his massive battle axe and said 'It's time to die now!' I drew my sword and tried to defend myself, but all ten of them jumped me at once."

The barmaid leaned on the bar. "So there were ten?" she said, sarcastically. "A minute ago, there were only five."

Llendo froze for a few seconds. "Oh…uh…did I forget to mention the part where they all summoned skeleton warriors? Yeah, well, they summoned these huge skeleton warriors, and then they all jumped me. I managed to throw them off for a brief time, but they just kept coming."

The Khajiit examined her claws. "You still have not answered Ahnassi's question," she purred. "What happened to your clothes?"

Llendo looked down at the prison-issue rags that Oreotragus had made him wear. "Oh, well, the leader…remember, he was at least nine feet tall…was so skilled with his battle axe that even with all my fancy dodging, he managed to cut all the clothes from my body. So, I jumped on one of his minions and stole the clothes from _his_ body."

Ahnassi looked back at Varansaur. "That is a shame." She looked at Varansaur's clothes. "Were you wearing those elegant white silk pants you love so much?"

"Yes," Llendo moaned, unaware of Ahnassi's stifled giggles.

"And that lovely blue cloth belt with the bronze buckle the size of Ahnassi's paw?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I was wearing."

"And that fine black shirt with the yellow striped sleeves?"

Llendo looked at Ahnassi. "How do you know all this?"

At that moment, Oreotragus sat down on the stool to the left the boastful Dunmer. He looked at the barmaid and said "Two flins, please," before turning to Llendo and saying; "Hi there. Nels Llendo, right? I believe we've met."

All the color drained from Llendo's face. He turned around, to see Varansaur sitting on the stool on his other side.

"We really must stop meeting like this," the Argonian said.

The entire tavern erupted with laughter. Llendo shrunk down in his seat, so that only his red eyes were visible above the bar.

Varansaur waved his hands in mock horror. "Ooh, look out! I'm the big scary eight or nine foot-tall bad guy with the axe, and I'm coming to chop off all your clothes!"

"You'd better watch out!" Oreotragus teased. "The skeleton warriors are right behind you!"

The three skeleton warriors seated at a table in the far corner of the bar looked up, made low un-amused growls in the backs of their throats, and went back to their beer.

The barmaid shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Well here's something that may surprise you," Varansaur said, taking the glass of flin that the barmaid handed him. "It seems out friend Llendo here has brainwashed some Breton woman into thinking he's actually…what's the word…charming."

"Or handsome," Oreotragus offered.

"Or at all worth her, or anyone else's, time." Varansaur added.

One of the people who had been listening to Llendo's story, a Dunmer man in a suit of boiled netch leather armor, set down his drink. "What woman?" he inquired.

"Yes," Llendo said, "what woman?"

"Oh, some woman in a fancy dress. I think she said her name was Maurrie." Varansaur fished the glove out of his pocket. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but she wanted me to give this to you for her."

The other Dunmer stood up and walked towards Varansaur. "I'm sorry, what did you say her name was?"

"Maurrie," Varansaur said. "Maurrie…Aurmine, I think."

The Dunmer stared off into space. "It couldn't be…could it?"

"I'm sorry," Oreotragus said, "but who are you again?"

"Oh! Of course, forgive me." The Dunmer extended one hand. "Nelos Onmar."

Varansaur tentatively shook Onmar's hand. "Nelos Onmar…Nel…O…something…" He looked at Oreotragus. Oreotragus looked at him. "_OH!_" they both said, very loudly.

Oreotragus clapped a hand to his forehead. "Duh! Now it all makes sense!"

"I believe this was meant for you." Varansaur said, handing Onmar the glove.

Onmar took the glove and stared at it for a long time. "I don't believe it. I never imagined that she…that I…that…" He suddenly pulled out a piece of paper and began to write something. He slid the note to Varansaur. "If you see her again, could you give this to her?"

"Why can't you do it?"

"I'm too shy."

"Shy of what?" Oreotragus asked.

"What if she says no?"

Varansaur's eyes narrowed. "Every time the conversation turned to one cell in your body, she went into a trance. I don't think she'll say no."

Oreotragus picked up the note and scanned it. "Although, if she sees your penmanship…" He pulled out his own quill and paper and began to write so quickly that it looked more like he was strangling a bird. A few seconds later, he gave his note to Onmar. It essentially said the same thing Onmar's note had said ("always in my thoughts" "honored by your affection" "blah blah blah"), but the characters displayed an elegant flourish that spoke of jasmine-scented summer evenings and starlit nights…as opposed to Onmar's note, which had spoken of being written by a chicken.

"Go to her," Oreotragus said, steering Onmar towards the door. "Talk to her, give her the note, ask her out to dinner, and stop being so nervous. Oh, and, on the very small chance that things _do _go sour…if you were to, say, mention that there's this…certain _other _handsome bandit hanging around Pelagiad…"

Varansaur pushed Onmar out the door. "Have fun!" he called after him, before shutting the door again.

A Breton woman stood up and walked over to the two travelers. "I saw what you did. That was the most noble, gallant thing I've seen anyone do in a long time."

Oreotragus seemed shocked. "Gallant?"

"I'm Emusette Bracques. I'm visiting from Tel Aruhn. Maurrie and I have been friends since we were children. I'm so glad you two would do this for her. I imagine the bards will be singing the tale of Maurrie and Nelos for years to come."

Oreotragus stroked his chin. "_Gallant,_" he mused.

Varansaur rolled his eyes.

"I must reward you for your chivalrous kindness!" Emusette continued. "I don't have any money, though…oh! I know!" She pulled three vials from under her dress. Each was labeled "Restore Health." "You two look like adventurous types," she said, "so you'll probably have better use for these than I will. Ooh, I have to go tell everybody!" With that, she opened the door and ran out into the street.

"_Gallant…_" Oreotragus said.

"Well," Varansaur said, returning to the bar, "that was a fun way to waste an entire page of the story."

Oreotragus leaned on the bar and looked at Llendo. "So. Nels Llendo. That was a clever trick you pulled back there." He pointed at the amulet around Llendo's neck. "I don't remember you having that amulet when you left us. A Recall amulet, am I right?"

Llendo's gaze darted between Oreotragus' sword and Varansaur's massive clawed feet. He tried to speak, but only a small whimpering sound came out.

"So," Oreotragus said. "How would you like to do a little work for two of the top three criminals in Vvardenfell?"

"What?"

"I am currently representing the Thieves' Guild," Oreotragus said, "which, as you know, is run by #3 on CM's list. We have business here in Pelagiad, business that involves stealing something from the local trader, and we think you might just be the person we need to help us pull it off."

Llendo gave a nervous laugh. "Well…as honored as I, Nels Llendo, am…I'm no burglar. My skills lie in highwayman…ing…"

Oreotragus chuckled and put a hand on Llendo's shoulder. "Oh, you don't have to do anything illegal. Leave that to me. I have a different job for you."

**X X X**

Mebestein Ence, resident trader of the city of Pelagiad, looked up at the sound of the door to his shop opening. A Bosmer entered, wearing an expensive blue robe, which was unbuttoned, showing his boiled netch leather cuirass; a Colovian fur helmet, under which his thick spiked hair was clearly visible; a chitin gauntlet on his right hand; and a pair of boots that looked like they could've been made out of some weird hybrid of every armor type known to man and mer. Behind the elf was a tall Argonian in a very elegant outfit, with a chain cuirass and a large spiked shield. Ence reached under the counter and pulled out a box labeled "suckers." He removed two pieces of paper from the box, one bearing the heading "**BOSMER**" and the other "**ARGONIANS.**" Each one had several tally marks. Ence quickly added another mark to each paper and placed them back inside the box.

"Hello," he said, as the Argonian leaned on the counter. "Mebestein Ence's the name. How may I rip you off today?"

Varansaur started at the trader's abruptness. He cast a glance back at the Imperial guard by the door. "Well," he said, "it's nice to see that the people here are so up front about their fraud."

Ence merely laughed.

"So," Varansaur said, "I was wondering if you knew anything about Dwemer arti…"

"It's a lie!" Ence blurted.

Varansaur and the guard both gave the trader a suspicious look.

"Erm…" Ence said, "that is…I know that the trading in Dwemer artifacts is strictly illegal, and I certainly have no intentions of breaking the law." He leaned in close to Varansaur and whispered out of the side of his mouth "Especially when the uard-gay is standing right ere-thay!"

Varansaur nodded. "Ood-gay oint-pay."

Just then, the door burst open, and in strode Nels Llendo.

Mebestein Ence looked over Varansaur's shoulder. "Llendo? What in Oblivion are you doing here?"

Varansaur whirled around. "Nels Llendo! Good. I've been looking for you." He leaned his hand on the door to keep it from being opened. "I'd like to have a little talk with you, concerning that little fling you had with my wife."

Llendo blinked innocently. "Your wife?"

"Your wife?" Ence echoed.

"Criona?" Varansaur growled, ignoring Ence. "That name ring any bells?"

"I swear," Llendo said, raising his hands defensively, "she came on to me!"

Ence's jaw dropped. "Wait…you, and an _Argonian? _That's just strange, even for you."

Varansaur grabbed Ence by the collar. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

The guard pushed Varansaur away with the handle of his spear. "Gentlemen, please! I will not tolerate fighting in this establishment."

"Not fighting," Llendo said. "I, Nels Llendo, like that idea."

Varansaur swiftly slapped Llendo on the back of the head. "Shut up! This is all your fault!"

"I suggest," the guard said, lowering his spear, "that you two take this outside."

The fight was suddenly interrupted by a loud thud coming from upstairs, followed by a scream of pain and a loud, long stream of expletives.

"What was that?" Ence said. He looked around. "Wait a minute. Where's the other one?"

Varansaur cocked his head. "What other one?"

"The elf. Where did he go?"

"I'm right here," Llendo offered.

"Not you," Ence snapped, "the other one. The short one."

"I heard that!" Oreotragus shouted from upstairs.

"Hey!" the guard shouted. "You can't be up there! That's a private room!" He ran up the stairs. A few seconds later, he ran back down. "There's no one up there. But that chest by your bed is open, and one of your lampshades is missing."

But when the guard said the word "open," Ence quickly dashed upstairs, and by the time he completed the sentence, he was long gone.

"You know," Varansaur said, "maybe we _should _settle this outside." With that, he grabbed Llendo by the arm and dragged him out the door.

Llendo looked at Varansaur as the door latch clicked behind them. "You think it worked?"

Varansaur grinned. "As long as Oreotragus made it out with the goods, I think we should be fine. They bought our little act completely."

"How exactly did Oreotragus say he was going to escape again?"

"Oh, some amulet," Varansaur said. "Divine intervention, I think."

Llendo's eyes widened. "Divine intervention? Whatever he found sounded really big, and he took it straight to Fort Pelagiad?"

Varansaur gasped and took off running for the large stone fort on the edge of town.

**X X X**

The guards of Fort Pelagiad looked up at the sound of running feet. An Argonian ran into the fort and leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

One of the guards stood up and walked over to the newcomer. This was certainly a busy day in the fort. "Can I help you?"

The Argonian looked up. "A…Bosmer," he panted. "A very…stupid…Bosmer. Where is he?"

"Oh, you mean the one delivering the lamp?" the guard said. "Yes, you must be his business partner. He's inside. That's a very strange lamp, though. I always said Shadbak had no sense of style."

The Argonian panted a few more times. "Thanks." He pushed the door open and went inside the fort.

**X X X**

On the inside, Fort Pelagiad was a carbon copy of Fort Moonmoth. It had stone walls, several armored guards of varying importance wandering around, and very little in the way of interior decorating. In the far corner, Oreotragus stood next to what was either the ugliest lamp in existence, or a Dwemer coherer with a lampshade on top of it. When he saw Varansaur, he beckoned the Argonian over.

Varansaur looked at the coherer. "They actually thought this was a lamp?"

Oreotragus nodded. "Yeah. I've never known a Legion guard who wasn't really dense."

"So where are we supposed to take this thing?"

"Shadbak gra-Burbug." Oreotragus said. "The guards said she's downstairs in her quarters." He stooped to lift the coherer. "Help me with this thing, will you? I think I broke a couple toes when I took it out of its chest."

Varansaur grabbed the other side of the coherer and helped Oreotragus carry it down the stone stairs. "Hey, did you tell those guards out there that I was your business partner?"

"Yeah," Oreotragus said. "Aengoth told me that you said I was your partner, so I figured I'd return the favor."

Varansaur pushed a wooden door open with his foot and carrier the coherer inside. An Orc woman sat at a desk on the other side of the small room, messing around with a long iron spear. Varansaur set the coherer down and said; "Delivery from Lamps R Us, for a Shadbak gra-Burbug!"

The Orc looked up from her spear. "I never ordered anything from Lamps R Us. In fact, I didn't even know there _was _a 'Lamps R Us.'"

Varansaur smirked. "Trust me," he said, removing the lampshade from the coherer, "you'll want to see this."

Shadbak's eyes grew to twice their original size as she stared at the coherer. "That…that's Mebestein's! You little thieves, I oughta…"

Oreotragus put his non-injured foot on the coherer. "How do you know it's his?"

"Because he pays me to keep quiet about th…er…um…what I meant to say was…was, uh…aw, crap. Okay, whaddya want?"

Oreotragus took the wanted poster out of his pocket. "The full pardon and release of this Bosmer, who is being held in the prison in this very fort."

Shadbak's eyes narrowed. "What kind of fool do you take me for? I'm not just going to pardon some thief."

"Of course, I understand," Varansaur said. "But I'm not sure the Knight of the Imperial Dragon will be so understanding when he finds out that one of his officers is taking hush bribes about a smuggling ring."

Shadbak pulled a piece of paper from her desk. "What was that name again?"

"Bragor," Oreotragus said. "New-shoes Bragor."

Shadbak signed the pardon and gave it to Varansaur. "Give this to the guards in the prison towers," she snatched the insanely heavy coherer up with one hand, "give _this _to me, and get the Hell out of my office!"

**X X X**

"All right," Varansaur said to Oreotragus, outside the fort again. "We took care of that Thieves' Guild job. Now let's get that skull for Sharn."

The two adventurers set off to the hills on the southeast side of town.

"And so," Oreotragus said after a few minutes, "the gallant Oreotragus gallantly set off on his gallant quest…"

"Until his gallant companion gallantly put his gallant foot in Oreotragus' gallant ass!" Varansaur snapped.

Oreotragus looked at Varansaur's claws. "Point taken."

"There!" Varansaur suddenly pointed to an arched door protruding from the side of a hill. "That's probably it."

"What makes you so sure?" Oreotragus asked as they jogged over to the door.

Varansaur indicated a wooden plaque affixed to the door. The plaque was engraved with the word "Andrano."

"Come on," he said, pushing the door open. "Let's get this little treasure hunt over with."

Oreotragus stopped suddenly. He couldn't quite remember why, but there was something disturbingly familiar about this situation.

Varansaur paused partway down the dark staircase into the tomb. "Oreotragus?"

"Coming," the elf said.

"You okay?" Varansaur asked as they descended the stairs. "You seem a bit shaken."

"I'll be all right." Oreotragus looked around. This was different than the vague memory that was haunting him for some reason. For a start, the passages were made of carved stone, rather than dirt. Several stone pedestals lined the walls, each with a large clay urn on top.

Varansaur looked at Oreotragus. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Like I said, I'll be all right. Just as long as we don't run into any-"

Oreotragus was interrupted by a nearby urn jumping off of its pedestal and smashing in front of him, dusting both travelers with a white powder that felt too granular to be ash.

Oreotragus felt the powder on his robe. "Please tell me this isn't powdered bone."

Varansaur spit out a mouthful of the stuff. "I think that's exactly what it is. How did that…" but his question was answered when he turned to the now-vacant pedestal to see something white and translucent floating above it. In the dim torchlight, he had missed it before, but now that it was right in front of him, he could clearly make out what appeared to be the upper half of a human skeleton wearing an old ragged white cloak. It was, unmistakably, a ghost.

Varansaur approached the ghost. "Um…hi. We're looking for a Llevule Andrano. I don't suppose you could tell us where he is? Or, more specifically, where his skull is?"

The ghost hissed at Varansaur and conjured a ball of red ghost energy, which it threw at Varansaur and Oreotragus, knocking them both off their feet.

"Just once," Varansaur said, struggling to his feet, "I'd like to do something that doesn't involve something trying to kill us." He drew his shortsword and said "Come on, Oreotragus. We can take this thing!"

But Oreotragus didn't move. A fifteen year-old memory had suddenly rushed back to him in disturbing detail, and he now remembered why he had felt uneasy about going into the tomb.

"Oreotragus! Get up and fight!"

Oreotragus curled into a fetal position. The ghost picked up another urn and prepared to throw it at Oreotragus.

"Oh no you don't!" Varansaur shouted. He leapt forward and plunged his shortsword into the ghost. The blade went right through, but as it did so, an orange pulse shot through the flames etched in the metal, and the ghost's cloak caught on fire. The ghost gave a very weary-sounding scream and dropped the urn, which shattered on the stone floor, giving the good guys a fresh coat of bonemeal. The ghost began flying in circles, patting at the flames with its skeletal hands, trying in vain to put itself out.

"Come on!" Varansaur shouted. "Finish it off!"

Oreotragus' hand began to slowly, feebly, move towards the handle of his sword, as the ghost began to roll around on the wall.

"Fine, I'll do it myself!" Varansaur grabbed Oreotragus' sword and plunged it into the flaming ghost. The ghost began to flash as the electricity from Oreotragus' sword shot through it. Then, it exploded, splattering everything, including the already very dirty Varansaur and Oreotragus, with ectoplasm.

Varansaur wiped the ectoplasm from his eyes and threw the sword to the ground in front of Oreotragus. "You, my friend, have a lot of explaining to do."

Oreotragus slowly sat up. "Oh, uh, didn't I mention this? Yeah, um…I have this…eh…how can I put this…phobia of the living dead."

Varansaur blinked several times. "What?"

"Yeah. When I was seven, my older brother locked me in this tomb with a bonelord, and ever since then I've been afraid of confronting undead things in their tombs."

"You didn't seem to have any problems with that skeleton outside Arkngthand." Varansaur said.

"Yeah, well, that was because it was outside, so there were a lot of potential escapes. I only have a phobic reaction if I'm in a confined area with the undead thing. I tried to repress the memory for fifteen years, but now the whole thing just came back to me."

"What about those three skeletons in the Halfway Tavern?"

Oreotragus, who had been trying to re-sheath his sword, almost stabbed himself in the groin. "There were skeletons in the Halfway Tavern? Why didn't you say anything?"

Varansaur gave Oreotragus a smug look. "If I had said anything, how would you have reacted?"

Oreotragus considered this for a few seconds, before saying, "I probably would've thrown a chair through the window, jumped through the broken glass, and run screaming and waving my arms until I passed out in the middle of nowhere and woke up to find myself half-eaten by mudcrabs. So, now that you mention it, I'm kinda glad you didn't say anything."

"Don't mention it," Varnsaur said, helping Oreotragus to his feet. "Now let's find this Andrano guy so we can get the hell out of here."


	24. One Down

_After a few minutes, Qualergi noticed that the screaming and banging coming from inside the tomb had stopped. He sighed and fished a key out of his pocket. "Why did I promise Mother on her deathbed that I wouldn't let anything happen to him? I could've just left him." He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. He put his hand on the hilt of his dagger as he made his way through the catacombs of dirt._

_As he rounded a corner, he was suddenly aware that he was standing on something. He looked down to discover the robe of a bonelord. Three of the bonelord's hands were lying on the ground around the robe. "What the…?" Qualergi looked up, and felt his jaw drop. Oreotragus had somehow gotten himself a silver longsword and was engaged in violent combat with a huge skeleton warrior. Even more surprisingly, Oreotragus was winning._

_The small elf blocked a sword blow aimed for his head, then rolled between the skeleton's legs and hacked them both off at the knees. The skeleton groaned in surprise and tried to turn around to attack Oreotragus; however, it no longer had any feet, so it just fell on its face, giving Oreotragus the perfect opportunity to send its skull skittering down the hallway. The skeleton twitched, and then moved no more._

_At that moment, Oreotragus heard a footstep behind him. _Another skeleton, _he thought. He quickly raised his sword and spun around. The sword found its mark – directly in Qualergi's gut. Oreotragus let go of the handle of the sword and stepped back, a look of pure horror on his face._

_Qualergi_ _looked at the sword protruding from his abdomen. He looked at the remains of the bonelord and the skeleton lying on the floor. How was this the same Oreotragus he knew? He looked at his little brother, who was clearly still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Qualergi smiled. "Kick…ass…little bro!" he managed to cough, before fading into blackness._

CHAPTER 24

The Andrano Ancestral Tomb, as it turned out, was pretty much one long continuous hallway, so it didn't take long for Varansaur and Oreotragus to narrow the location of Llevule Andrano's skull down to one room.

"Well, this wasn't so bad," Varansaur said. "We just may get out of this one relatively undamaged."

At that moment, a battle axe embedded itself in the wall three inches from Varansaur's face.

"Or not," he said.

The skeleton that was holding the axe extracted it from the wall and howled with rage. Oreotragus hid behind a pedestal.

"Let me guess," Varansaur said, sidestepping the skeleton's axe. "You're too afraid to help me with this one, too."

"Especially this one," Oreotragus said, as Varansaur blocked the next axe blow with his shield. "Because of Qualergi."

Varansaur ducked the axe. "I thought you said he locked you in with a bonelord."

"Yeah, but after that," (Varansaur pushed the skeleton backwards with his shield) "a skeleton showed up, and we fought for a while" (Varansaur was forced to throw himself to the floor to avoid being chopped in half) "and after I beat it, I heard something behind me," (Varansaur scuttled backwards, and the skeleton gave him a nice pedicure with its axe) "so I turned around and…and it was Qualergi, and…and I panicked and killed him! I killed my own brother!"

Varansaur caught the blade of the axe between the palms of his hands, just inches from his face. "That's great," he grunted, as he had been a little preoccupied with avoiding the large bladed weapon being swung repeatedly at his head to fully listen to Oreotragus' story, "but do you think you could put all that aside for one second and help me?"

"No," Oreotragus said, timidly.

"Fine," Varansaur said, as he tripped the skeleton with his tail. The skeleton fell to the ground, and forgot to hold on to its axe. Varansaur now took the axe by the handle and smashed the skeleton's skull. "I really hope that wasn't Llevule Andrano," he said. He then began tossing the axe from one hand to the other. "This is a nice axe," he said, tucking it into his belt.

Oreotragus slowly came out from behind the pedestal. "You know how to use that?"

"Yeah. I did a lot of wood chopping back at home." He walked to a large coffin in the back of the room. "Hey, I think I found him."

Oreotragus ran over to Varansaur. "Are you sure?"

Varansaur began to read the inscription on the coffin. "Here lies Llevule Andrano, the most selfish, cruel, arrogant, greedy bastard it has ever been my misfortune to know. He lies here only because his will specifies that, had I gone with my original plan to chuck his body over a cliff and leave him for the mudcrabs, I would void my inheritance. Love, Mero Andrano, grandson. P.S. I hope some necromancer makes your body into his personal plaything, you old goat."

"Well then," Oreotragus said, rolling up his sleeves, "what are we waiting for?" Oreotragus put his hands under the lid of the coffin and, giving a mighty heave, thrust his body upwards. Or at least, he _thought _about going upwards – nothing actually moved upwards, although his feet moved outwards, downwards, side-to-side, any direction to relieve the pressure. The coffin, however, didn't even creak.

Varansaur yawned and idly glanced at the massive padlock on the side of the coffin.

"Right," Oreotragus said, pulling out his sword. "Stand back." He raised his sword over his head and brought it crashing down on the coffin. It sunk about half an inch into the wood, and refused to budge any further, in _or _out, as Oreotragus soon discovered.

Varansaur picked a piece of dirt out from under his claw. "You, uh…you about ready for some help, there?"

Oreotragus looked at Varansaur's axe. "After what that thing did to the last skull, I'm not letting it anywhere near this one. I'll find a way to get this!"

"You mean like you were going to find a way to get the Dwemer puzzle box?"

"I'm Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued! I can crank out plans…"

"Like a rat cranks out offspring. We've been through this before, and the simile wasn't any less revolting then."

Oreotragus put his hands on his hips. "Well then let's see you come up with a brilliant idea, Mr…"

Varansaur casually put his hand on the lock. The lock glowed purple for a second, before falling open with a soft click.

Oreotragus stared at the Argonian. "What…how…?"  
"Tower Key," Varansaur said, slipping the lock off of the coffin. "Birthsign ability. You have it too, remember?"

Oreotragus' eyes narrowed. "One of these days, you're going to be struggling for an idea, and I'm going to be the one who gets us out."

"Uh huh," Varansaur said, flipping the lid open, revealing a (thankfully stationary) human skeleton. "Well, when that kagouti of yours grows wings, gimme a shout." He grabbed the skull and pulled it off with a slightly disturbing _pop! _"Here," he said, holding the skull out to Oreotragus, "you carry it."

Oreotragus held up his hands. "No way! I'm not touching that thing!"

"Oh come on! It's not undead, it's just…dead. I already took the skull from the body. It won't bite!"

At that moment, the skull leapt from Varansaur's hand and sank its teeth into Oreotragus' finger.

"I have a lot to learn about the undead," Varansaur said.

Oreotragus started beating the skull against the wall, which only made it tighten its grip. "Why do you suppose they padlocked the coffin!?"

"Oh, and I suppose Dunmer burial traditions make sense to _you?_"

"All I'm _saying_ is, if the _guy_ wasn't _buried_ with _gold_ or _jewels_ or something, the _padlock_ was to _keep_ something _in!_" Oreotragus shrieked, accentuating every other word with a smack of the skull against the wall.

Varansaur grabbed the handle of Oreotragus' sword, put his foot on the coffin, and pulled. With a crunch, the sword emerged from the coffin, sending bits of wood flying everywhere.

"All right, hold still," Varansaur said, holding the sword out. "I'll take care of it."

"NO!" Oreotragus and the skull said together, although in the skull's case, it was more of an "Uaah," since it had a mouth full of elf finger, and no tongue.

"Suit yourself," Varansaur said. "You want to walk all the way back to Balmora with that thing clinging to your finger, be my guest."

Oreotragus adopted a "why me?" expression, before putting his hand on the floor and placing his feet on either side of his finger, then pulling upwards while pushing down with his feet. The skull did indeed let go of his hand, only to latch onto his foot…which just happened to be the one with the broken toes.

Varansaur was shocked. He had never heard anyone blaspheme the names of so many deities in so little time, without taking a breath. However, Oreotragus' preoccupation with his pain gave Varansaur an opportunity to insert his shortsword into the skull's mandible joint and pry the jaw off with an even more sickening _pop! _"Good thing Sharn never said the skull had to be in one piece," he said, picking up the skull and jaw and tossing both into a nearby sack. "Now let's get this thing back to Balmora."

**X X X**

"Oreotragus?"

"Yes?"

"This isn't Balmora."

Oreotragus looked around. "Are you sure?"

"Well," Varansaur said, "I'm not exactly from around here, but I'm reasonably certain if Balmora had had something like this, I would've noticed." As he spoke, he leaned on the pedestal of the gigantic statue of a dragon wrapped around an obsidian spire in the center of the town they had just entered.

"Well, I would've taken the right road if a certain Nels Llendo who shall remain nameless hadn't chopped down the sign." Oreotragus replied.

Varansaur looked around. The architecture was very similar to that of Pelagiad, with wooden beams visible in the plaster of the smaller buildings, and larger ones constructed entirely of limestone bricks. It was clearly an Imperial town…if the architecture hadn't given it away, the large number of Imperials wearing Imperial Legion uniforms certainly would have.

"All right," Oreotragus said, "so where are we?"

"Why, you're in Ebonheart, of course," said one of the guards as he walked past. "The seat of Imperial authority on Vvardenfell. Duke Vedam Dren's office is on the south side of town, although you won't be able to see him without a prior appointment."

"Great," Varansaur said. "So how do we get to Balmora from here? A certain 'fourth-greatest-criminal in Tamriel' destroyed the road sign."

"In that case, head north. Stick to the east bank. You'll see some large buildings floating in the water. That's Vivec city. At the north end of the city, you should see a siltstrider port."

"Oh joy," Varansaur said. "Siltstriders."

The guard suddenly noticed that the Argonian had a small burlap sack hanging from his belt. He also noticed that the sack was moving on its own.

"Um…that bag on your belt…"

"Will not be opened within city limits," Oreotragus piped up. "You have our word."

"It'd better not be," the guard whispered, "or all three of us are going to be in a world of trouble." With that, he resumed his patrol.

"Well, come on," Varansaur said. "Let's get this over with."

The two headed towards the gate leading out of town. As they did so, they passed a pair of Dunmer walking in the opposite direction. The man was wearing a full set of Orcish armor, except for his head, which was bare, revealing his hair to be almost purple and slicked back into spikes even sharper that Oreotragus', and his left ear was pierced. The woman was wearing a blue shirt under a netch leather cuirass, and had long, red hair and a very pointed chin. As the two pairs walked past each other, Varansaur heard just a snippet of their conversation.

"…growing impatient, Sathryon. Tell me…"

Varansaur suddenly stopped walking. The armor, the hair, the voice…_he knew that mer._

Oreotragus realized Varansaur wasn't with him anymore. He turned around to find the Argonian slowly moving towards the Dunmer. He had the ultimate Death Glare from Hell on his face, and he was slowly drawing his axe.

"What are you doing!?" he hissed, running up to Varansaur and grabbing him by the arm. "Don't you know who that guy is?"

"Yes," Varansaur growled. "That's Orvas Dren, the fetcher that ruined my life."

"Exactly! And he's the Duke's brother! And we're in the heart of the Imperial presence in Morrowind! _I'm _the one who has all the stupid ideas, remember?"

Something, possibly the idea of Oreotragus being the rational one, got through to Varansaur. His expression softened, and he let his axe slide back into his belt.

"Now listen," Oreotragus said, "I heard him call the woman 'Sathryon.' One of the people in Larrius Varro's story was named Vadusa Sathryon. I think we should listen in on their conversation."

The two slowly crept up on the Dunmer, using a stack of crates to conceal their presence.

"Sir," the woman said, "with all due respect, the others have been asking questions. They want to know the purpose of what we're doing."

Orvas Dren sighed. "If I tell you, will you stop asking questions and just do it?"

Sathryon nodded.

"Fine. This was originally a backup plan, but plan A kind of fell through, so I've fallen back onto this one. At the end of the month, the Emperor will be conducting his annual inspections. Imperial agents will be sent to every city in Cyrodiil, and every Imperial province. The local authorities will be inspected based on several factors, but one of the most important will be their ability to maintain law and order. So if one of the Duke's magistrates is accepting bribes to let criminals go free, it will leave a huge black mark on his inspection. With any luck, the Emperor will decide to replace Vedam, and when King Helseth sends him a list of potential replacements, it'll be…_delayed. _When it finally does arrive, my name will just happen to be at the top of the list."

Sathryon thought for a moment. "If you don't mind my saying so, Sir, this is a bit more ambitious than you usually are."

"Let's just say the Camonna Tong has a new benefactor, and he has big plans for all of us. Now when's the next trial?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"And has he been paid?"

"We've decided he gets paid _after _he fills his end of the bargain."

Dren smiled. "_Now _you're thinking like a Camonna Tong member." He removed an amulet from under his cuirass. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the plantation. I have a lot of preparation. I expect a full report tomorrow." With that, he squeezed the amulet, was enveloped in white light, and vanished.

Sathryon began to walk towards the nearby tavern. "This 'new benefactor' had better have money falling out his ass."

Varansaur stepped out from behind the crates. "Vadusa Sathryon!" he shouted.

Sathryon slowly turned around, her expression suggesting a woman on the verge of sanity. "I hope that filthy reptile wasn't just speaking to me."

"And what if I was?" Varansaur said, walking towards her. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Say what you want, or go away," Sathryon growled. "I'd prefer the latter."

"I'm making a citizen's arrest," Varansaur said, "on behalf of the common decency of all people of Tamriel, for the bribery of an Imperial magistrate."

Varansaur didn't even see her draw her sword. By the time he registered the fact that he'd heard it, the point was less than an inch away from his throat. He would've been dead before he realized he'd been stabbed, if in that one inch, Oreotragus hadn't drawn his own sword and pushed hers away.

Oreotragus shrugged off his robe, revealing his bare arms. "Hold my robe," he said to Varansaur.

"What do I look like, your manservant?"

"You sound so indignant when you say that, and yet you still picked up my robe."

Sathryon's eyes narrowed. "I don't particularly enjoy midget wrestling."

Oreotragus slowly turned towards her, his eyes even narrower than hers. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me. I'm not repeating myself for a wood elf."

Oreotragus assumed a fighting stance, turning the undersides of both arms towards his opponent. Sathryon winced slightly at the sight of his branding scars, but her eyes widened considerably when she caught sight of the tattoo on his other arm.

"You…you're a pirate! You were one under the command of Oreotragus the Golden-Tongued!"

"Mmm…close. I guess you could say Oreotragus commanded me, since he followed his own commands."

"But…you were killed!"

"Was I? Huh. Strange. You'd think I'd remember something like that."

"Guess I'll have to finish the job. I'll get a raise for sure!"

In a whirlwind of clashing blades, Oreotragus and Vadusa Sathryon went into a feverish swordfight. Varansaur couldn't even keep track of whose sword was where. Several guards were naturally drawn to the scene, but each began making half-assed excuses as to why he was unable to get close enough to get involved, most citing obscure regulations whose names took longer to say than the regulations themselves, and involved several coughs in mid-sentence. The fight brought the two elves, as well as the massive crowd of onlookers, down the stairs into the main center of town. By this point, the guards seemed more concerned about the combatants' swords leaving marks in the statue of Akatosh than of anyone being skewered alive.

"Okay," Varansaur said, "at the risk of sounding like a complete idiot…who is Akatosh, and why is his statue more important than the lives of two of your citizens?"

The guards all stared. "Who's Akatosh? Only the dragon god of time! Only the most important of the Nine Divines! Only the very reason the symbol of the Empire is a dragon!"

"And he would care what happened to a granite statue…why?"

"He wouldn't. We would. That statue took ten years to sculpt, and an additional six months to ship here from Orsinium. It cost Morrowind several million septims! Whereas those guys," the guard indicated Sathryon and Oreotragus, "she's a Camonna Tong tough, and he's a pirate, so whichever one loses, the Empire benefits."

"Well," Varansaur said, "seeing as how the pirate was just released from prison, per order of the Emperor himself, and she wasn't…"

"I don't know about you," Oreotragus said to Sathryon, as he parried a blow aimed for his head, "but I'm actually enjoying this. I haven't had a decent swordfight since I was arrested!"

"I'll enjoy it when I'm wearing your entrails," Sathryon growled in reply.

"But sadly," Oreotragus sighed, as though he hadn't heard her, "all good things must come to an end. I didn't want to do this, but you leave me with no choice." With that, he leaned closer and kissed Sathyron full on the lips.

Varansaur's jaw dropped. Sathryon didn't do anything for a moment, apparently too stunned to realize what was happening. By the time it occurred to her to wrench herself away from Oreotragus, he had already stolen her sword, and as she backed away, she tripped over his foot, which he had wrapped around her leg for precisely that reason. As she sat up, she found herself presented with two swords, held next to her neck like a giant pair of pruning shears.

"You cheated!" she spat.

Oreotragus shrugged. "Pirate."

Sathryon looked around, and then, to Varansaur's immense confusion, began to laugh. "So, what?" she asked. "You're just going to kill me now, in front of all these people?"

"Well, seeing as how you attacked my friend over there, I'd be fully justified. That's how the law works. What would you prefer I do? Hand you over to the guards, so your little magistrate friend can let you off? I don't think so."

"But I'm unarmed," Sathryon said. "You've disarmed me, and I haven't tried anything violent since. So, if you killed me now, would it be defense, or murder?"

Oreotragus opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, apparently unsure how the guards would react if he killed her then and there. In this moment of hesitation, Sathryon balled up her fist and landed a punch straight to the most sensitive area on Oreotragus' body. Oreotragus' eyes widened and began to water. His lips curled inward, and he made a sound vaguely like someone trying to play a trumpet underwater. Sathryon took advantage of this distraction to snatch her sword back. She snarled and raised her sword…and flew across the harbor as a large scaly foot connected with her face.

Varansaur helped Oreotragus to his feet. Sathryon stood up and spun towards the two, her eyes livid with hate. Her face now sported three deep gashes, courtesy of Varansaur's foot. Varansaur turned to her in kind and drew his axe. Sathryon charged them, sword flailing wildly. Axes were too heavy to swing quickly, and she knew every sword fighting technique in the book. She was prepared for either of them, axe or sword, whoever swung first.

She was by no means prepared for the throwing star.

Oreotragus walked over to Sathryon's body and removed his throwing star from her throat. "You couldn't kill me in prison," he said. "What made you think you could do it when I was armed?"

Varansaur walked over to Oreotragus. "What was that all about?"

"She tried to kill us," Oreotragus said. "So I fought back."

"No, I mean the whole 'guess I'll have to finish the job' thing?"

"Oh. That. Well, back when I was the scourge of Valenwood, my crew and I attacked a Camonna Tong skooma ferry. Everything we couldn't take with us, we burned. Including the people. Orvas Dren swore to kill me, so he sent a bunch of hit men to whack me while I was in prison. None of them succeeded."

"Is there anyone you _haven't _pissed off?" Varansaur asked.

"Well…I don't think I've gotten on the bad side of…no, wait, there was that incident with Teleandril…well, I haven't…no, wait, I got their dander up too…the Thieves' Guild doesn't seem to hate me, since they let me join and all, so I guess that counts. What about you? Have I pissed you off?"

"Actually, now that I think about it, you're just an amusing annoyance." Varansaur looked around. "Well, there's not much point in staying here. Let's head for those silt striders."

So Varansaur and Oreotragus left Ebonheart, for real this time, and followed the guard's directions, heading north along the bank of the bay, passing what appeared to be several large buildings floating in the water, until they found a waiting silt strider, just as the sun was starting to set. As Varansaur gave his money to the operator, he leaned in closely. "Listen very carefully. I have had little food and no sleep all day. I intend to get one of them on this trip. So if you wake me up before we get to Balmora for any reason other than the silt strider being on fire, I will throw you from the cockpit and drive this damn thing myself. Do I make myself clear?"

The driver nodded, vaguely recalling something one of the other caravaners had said at the last Union meeting about a troublesome Argonian passenger, and started the massive bug in the direction of Balmora.


	25. Plots

_Oreotragus ran from the tomb in a blind panic. At only seven years old, he didn't really comprehend what had just happened. He understood pain much better than most Bosmer his age – Qualergi had seen to that. But death was still a somewhat alien concept. According to Qualergi, their father had been killed by a highwayman before he was born, and their mother had died in childbirth. Qualergi had explained to him what "death" was, but he had never really understood. Even so, somehow, he knew that his brother was never going to get off the floor again._

_As he ran, he failed to watch where he was going, until he ran straight into the one person who could've made this situation worse: Qualergi's old girlfriend, Telaendril. She was tall, blonde, and about as bloodthirsty a Bosmer as one would ever meet. She was also supposed to be an even better archer than Qualergi, although Qualergi had adamantly denied this._

_"Whoa there," Telaendril said, grabbing Oreotragus by the shoulders and holding him at arms length. "What's the hurry there, squirt?"_

_Oreotragus was too frightened to speak. It was only the memory of their mother's dying words that had moved Qualergi to protect him from the worst of Telaendril's violence. Supposedly, Telaendril had murdered her mother in an attempt to obtain her inheritance sooner. Her father had taken her sisters, moved to Cyrodiil, and according to rumors, arranged for some thug to kill her – if these rumors were true, he had done it pretty sloppily, as Telaendril was clearly still alive._

_"Can't talk?" Telaendril teased. "What's the matter? Knife got your tongue?" As she said this, she produced a small knife from her sleeve and held it up to Oreotragus' mouth. She laughed as the small elf quivered in her hands. "What are you doing out here by yourself, anyway? Where's Qualergi?"_

_Oreotragus managed to jerk his head back towards the open door of the tomb, which was still visible in the distance. It was then that Telaendril noticed the blood on Oreotragus' clothes. Having always been an exceptionally clever elf, it didn't take her long to put the pieces together._

_"What did you do!" she shrieked._

_Oreotragus whimpered and shrunk away from her._

_Telaendril began shaking Oreotragus. "You little fetcher! What did you do!" She threw Oreotragus to the ground and ran into the tomb. If Oreotragus had been a little older and less traumatized, it probably would've occurred to him to run at that moment. As it was, the thought never even crossed his mind until Telaendril's scream sent several nearby birds flying. Oreotragus started to run again, this time towards his house, the only shelter he had ever known. Qualergi had never been able to afford a decent tree house, so his was the only house in the neighborhood that sat on the ground. He barely closed the door behind him before he heard Telaendril's arrow thud against the wood, at exactly where his head had been. He dashed into the bedroom he and Qualergi had shared, slamming the door just as Telaendril's war cry shook dust from the rafters._

_"I'm gonna kill you!" she screamed. Something shattered on the floor outside the room…possibly the vase that Qualergi said contained their mother's ashes. The house didn't have many rooms, so it wasn't long before the door to the room began banging against the bed Oreotragus had somehow managed to push in front of it. Had he been in other circumstances, he may have marveled that he had been able to move such a large piece of furniture in front of the door…then again, had he been in other circumstances, he wouldn't have had a need to. Telaendril now began throwing her entire weight against the door. In his panic, Oreotragus grabbed for the nearest thing that could possibly help him: Qualergi's bow and quiver. He barely managed to get an arrow into the bow before Telaendril pushed the door open with such force that she upended the bed._

_Oreotragus wasn't really sure what happened next. He heard Telaendril draw and release her bow. At that precise moment, he turned and fired. His arrow struck hers in midair. Her arrow spun uselessly to the ground, while his lodged itself neatly in the bun on Telaendril's head._

_In her shock, Telaendril completely forgot about killing Oreotragus. She had never missed a target, let alone been out-shot by a seven year-old. Oreotragus, his hands shaking, picked up the fallen arrow and did something he had never been able to do before: look Telaendril in the eyes._

_"No…more…" he whispered, walking towards her. "Qualergi can't hurt me any more. And now…neither will you!" He put Telaendril's arrow to Qualergi's bow and pulled back._

_Telaendril's mouth began to curl upwards. "You have nowhere to go. You're a murderer. And if you kill me, you'll be a double murderer. Do you know what they do to murderers? They lock them away in dark, damp, smelly prison cells, where you barely have room to turn around, and make you eat nothing but stale bread. And after a few days, they take you out behind the building and cut off your head."_

_"No," Oreotragus stammered. "No, I – I'll hide! I'll hide somewhere and–"_

_"Aren't you listening? You're a murderer now. Nobody will hide you! Although…"_

_"What?"_

_"There might be a group who'd be willing to take you in. A group who would not only not care that you broke the law, but could actually use a kid like you."_

_"Who?"_

_"Only problem is…you just killed their leader. It'll take some persuading to get them to let you stay with them. That's where I come in…"_

CHAPTER 25

Sharn gra-Muzgob jumped at the sound of something being slammed on the table in front of her. She put down her book and, only barely noticing the strange looks from the fellow members of the Mages' Guild, turned her attention to the two travelers that were now standing in front of her. The Argonian was holding a burlap bag. Actually, he was pinning it to the table, as it seemed to contain something moving.

"What's this?" she asked.

"See for yourself," the Bosmer said, apparently not happy about something. Sharn cautiously took the bag from the Argonian and peered inside – and viciously recoiled as a human skull nearly bit her nose off. That was when she recognized the travelers.

"Oh, you're the ones Caius sent," she said.

"Yeah," Oreotragus growled. "And thank you_ so_ much for asking us to retrieve this for you. I _so _enjoyed nearly having my finger chewed off by a human sku…"

Sharn suddenly started coughing very loudly, and the other members of the guild leaned in and began listening intently. She sighed and looked at Varansaur and Oreotragus. "So, Caius wants to know about the Nerevarine cult, yes?"

"Yeah," Varansaur said. He was surprised – she had asked an innocent question. Why did he sound so venomous when he answered? He hoped she hadn't noticed and continued; "What is it?"

"It's an Ashlander cult," Sharn said. "They believe the long-dead hero Nerevar Indoril will be reborn to honor ancient promises to the tribes. According to legend, the prophesied Nerevarine will cast down the false gods of the Tribunal Temple, restore the traditional ancestor worship practiced by the Ashlanders, and drive all outlanders from Morrowind. Both Temple and Empire outlaw the cult, but it persists among the Ashlanders, who care little for Imperial or Temple law."

_Good for them, _Oreotragus thought as he wrote down these last few words.

"Here," Sharn said, handing Varansaur what seemed to be a small pamphlet. "I took the liberty of writing some more detailed notes for Caius. Feel free to peruse them, somewhere where I won't be connected if anyone catches you reading them. I'd read them aloud for you, but I figure the less time we spend talking down here, the better." With these words, she grabbed the bag with the skull, tossed it unceremoniously in her trunk, and refused to say another word.

"I think that's all we're getting out of her," Oreotragus said. "Let's go see about breakfast."

"Freakin' Orc…" Varansaur muttered under his breath.

Oreotragus stopped walking. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"What you just said."

Varansaur paused. He hadn't really been consciously aware of what he was saying. "What did I say?"

"That's what I'm asking you. I'm pretty sure I heard the word 'Orc,' but…oh my gods! I don't believe it!"

Varansaur scowled. "What are you on about?"

"After everything your people have been through, you actually have the nerve to hate her for being an Orc!"

"I don't hate her for being an Orc. I hate her for sending us on that stupid errand!"

"Well, so do I, but then what _did _you say?"

"I…don't know…" Varansaur was a little confused. What _had _he said? Was Oreotragus right? Had that random Orc he met in the street on the day he arrived in Balmora been right? Had his stint in prison caused him to dislike Orcs, simply out of principle?

All thoughts of this nature were driven out of his head as he and Oreotragus entered the foyer. There, they saw the Dunmer woman they had seen earlier, whose name they had learned was Ranis Athrys, and a Bosmer woman in a very exquisite orange robe, reading a note. Ranis looked distressed.

"It's from Edwinna," she was saying to the Bosmer. "While they were out investigating those vampire rumors, somebody broke into the Ald'Ruhn Mages' Guild, killed Manis, and made off with pretty much everything of value! They even got Anarenen's tanto!"

Varansaur and Oreotragus exited the building rather quickly, hoping against hope that they didn't look too suspicious. "So," Varansaur said, his voice betraying his nervousness, "how about that breakfast?"

**X X X**

The first thing Varansaur noticed was the smell. He had been inside the South Wall several times, but it had never smelled like fried fish before. The second thing he noticed was that the building was apparently empty. As Oreotragus led him downstairs, he immediately saw the answers to both mysteries. Every member of the Balmora Thieves' Guild was downstairs. Phane Rielle and Arathor were seated at the bar, apparently debating whether or not someone called the "Grey Fox" was a real person. Only-He-Stands-There was seated at a table, apparently contemplating the tapestry on the opposite wall. At the table next to him, Sottilde and Chirranirr were taking turns trying to break his concentration. Bacola Closcius was standing behind the counter, where he had set up what appeared to be a mini kitchen. This was the source of the smell.

"Morning," Closcius said as Varansaur and Oreotragus sat down at the bar. "What can I get you?"

"Two Fredas breakfast specials," Oreotragus said.

"Two fried slaughterfish on toast, coming up," Closcius said, as he began throwing ingredients in the pans.

Oreotragus looked around the room, while Varansaur began reading Sharn's notes. "Where's Habasi?" Oreotragus asked.

"I don't know," Closcius said, "and that's slightly worrying. Normally, on Slaughterfish Fredas, she's the first one in the club."

"Wow," Varansaur said, still looking at the notes. "The Temple really doesn't like this Nerevarine prophecy."

"Well," Oreotragus replied, "Sharn did say the prophecy said he would…what were her words…'cast down the false gods of the Tribunal temple.'"

"Well, apparently," Varansaur said, handing Closcius a small handful of coins in exchange for a plate of food, "any time someone claims to be the Nerevarine, they call them a 'false incarnate,' declare them to be insane, and have the Ordinators arrest them 'for their own good.' The most recent one was some girl named Peakstar. The Temple says she's dead, but no body was ever produced." He took a bite of toast and read a little further down the notes. "'The cult operates in secret, and it is hard to judge how widespread it is among the Ashlanders, or whether it has any following outside the Ashlander tribes.' Well, seeing how the Temple reacts to it, I'm not surprised. It also says that the Temple honors and venerates Lord Nerevar as a hero, but 'rejects the disgusting notion that the False Incarnate will walk the earth like a ghoul.'"

"I really don't care," Oreotragus said, through a mouthful of fish. "About any of this."

Varansaur started. He had turned to the page labeled "Nerevarine Prophecies", which opened with the paragraph "Dream visions and prophecies are a respected tradition in Ashlander culture. Their wise women and shamans take careful note of dreams and visions, and pass on the tribe's legacies of vision and prophecy to their successors. By contrast, the Temple and the Western faiths are suspicious of mysticism, and they regard interpretation of dreams and visions as primitive superstition."

Dreams…hadn't Jiub, the Dunmer on the prison ship, said something about dreams? _"In Morrowind, if you have a bizarre dream, the Temple thinks you're a heretic. And they want to lock you up. If you have a bizarre dream, and the Temple thinks it means something, they think you're a prophet or a witch. And they want to lock you up."_

Oreotragus looked at Varansaur. "You okay?"

Varansaur shook himself back to reality. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I just had a flashback to this weird dream I had on the boat on the way over here."

Oreotragus gave a disapproving sniff. "It couldn't have been any weirder than the dream I had. I was in some wasteland…there was red dust everywhere…it sort of looked like Ald'Ruhn, but without the buildings. There was a voice…I couldn't see the speaker, but it sounded sort of like a woman…I almost got hit by lightning, and attacked by a cliff racer, and then I woke up…" Here he stopped talking, because Varansaur was staring at him, with the end of his fork hanging out of his mouth. It took a few seconds, but one could practically see the light bulb go on in Oreotragus' head. "You don't mean that you…"

"Did yours have these words scrolling through your field of vision before the woman started speaking?"

"Yeah…I couldn't read most of them, they were in Daedric, or something, but the last line clearly said–"

"… 'Many fall, but one remains'" Varansaur finished for him. He quickly snatched up the papers and began scanning them frantically. "I knew it! I knew that phrase was familiar. Listen to this. '"The Stranger" is the most common version of the Nerevarine prophecy. "When earth is sundered, and skies choked black/And sleepers serve the seven curses/To the hearth there comes a stranger,/Journeyed far 'neath moon and star/Though stark-born to sire uncertain/His aspect marks his certain fate/Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him/Prophets speak, but all deny/Many trials make manifest/The stranger's fate, the curses' bane/Many touchstones try the stranger/_Many fall, but one remains."'"_

"Huh," Oreotragus said. Then, he started to laugh. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think _we _were the Nerevarine."

"Don't say that!" Closcius hissed. "Not even as a joke! You never know when the Temple may be listening. You're fairly safe in Balmora. It's a very Hlaalu town, and House Hlaalu's mostly loyal to the Empire, so the Temple doesn't have as much influence as it does in, say, Ald'Ruhn or Vivec."

"I thought the Empire didn't like the cult either," Varansaur said.

"No, but as long as you aren't outright claming to be involved, they're pretty much willing to look the other way. The Temple, on the other hand, will try to arrange for your arrest if they hear you say anything that even rhymes with 'Nerevarine.'"

"Wait," Oreotragus said, "there are words that rhyme with 'Nerevarine?'"

Before Closcius could answer, the door upstairs suddenly slammed shut. This was followed by the sound of running footsteps. Habasi appeared in the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time. She paused, leaning against the wall to catch her breath, and then turned straight to Varansaur and Oreotragus. "You killed Vadusa Sathryon," she said.

Oreotragus alternated between looking at her and looking at Varansaur. "And that's…bad?"

"In and of itself, no. But the Camonna Tong is now on the warpath! They plan to strike the South Wall tonight!"

Oreotragus stood up and drew his sword. "I'd like to see them try."

"No," Habasi said. "That is precisely what they would want. They would not be overtly aggressive to you, and you would draw the guards' attention to our hideout. Besides, Habasi knows you two are busy doing important work for Caius Cosades." She chuckled at the surprised looks on their faces. "Do not be so surprised. Caius and Habasi are old friends. Caius helps keep our operations secret from the guards, in exchange for the Guild providing him with information and…other things. Oh, it is not what you are thinking," she quickly added in response to Varansaur's sudden look of disgust. "Caius has what Khajiit call a 'sugar tooth.' Moon sugar. A key ingredient in skooma. Habasi knows a dealer in town. She helps support both his job and his habit, and he supports the Guild."

"But what about the Camonna Tong!" Sottilde piped up from the far corner.

"Oh yes. The Camonna Tong. Tonight, we must all barricade ourselves in the South Wall…" she turned to Varansaur and Oreotragus, "except for you two, who will likely be out of town tonight. What Habasi wants you two to do is find an old acquaintance of the Guild. So old, in fact, that Habasi does not remember his name. All she remembers is that he is an Altmer, and a master of security, and he lives in Balmora. You must find him today, and you must convince him to return to the Guild and help us."

Varansaur swallowed his fish. "Wouldn't it make more sense to _not _be here when they show up?"

"They would just wait until we returned, and then attack us all. No, a better choice would be to wait it out. When the Camonna Tong tries to get past our security master's locks and traps, they will either become discouraged and leave, or attract the guards' attention and get caught in the act."

"I thought attracting the guards here was a bad thing."

"Not if _we _aren't the ones who attract them," Habasi said. "The guards know all about us. We operate under the radar, so they cannot charge any members of the Guild with any specific crimes. Thus, they cannot do anything about us. What Habasi meant before was that if _we _draw their attention, they will charge the whole of the Thieves' Guild with something."

Varansaur sighed. "We can't get a day's rest, can we?" He finished his last bite of fish and turned to go.

"By the way," Habasi said, "Habasi has spoken with Bragor. You performed well." She handed Oreotragus and Varansaur each a pouch of coins. "This should be plenty reward for your trouble."

**X X X**

Caius Cosades read over Sharn's notes. "Excellent work. I'm promoting both of you to the rank of Blades Apprentice."

Varansaur blinked. "What?"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? Yeah…the orders you delivered me from Seyda Neen included an order from the Emperor to induct you into the Blades, the hidden Eyes and Ears of the Empire."

"So, we're Imperial spies?" Oreotragus said.

"Not so loud," Caius hissed. "But yes. And you've just been promoted. Now give me some time to think how this fits in with the Emperor's plans for you. So take some time to polish your skills and enhance your cover story with a little freelance adventuring. I should have new orders ready for you before sunset."

"You know," Varansaur said, "it's funny you should mention that…" and he told Caius what Habasi had asked them to do.

"You're sure she said 'he?'" Caius asked.

"Yes."

"Well, then, that pretty much narrows it down to Hecerinde. There's only six Altmer in Balmora. Four of them are women, and the fifth, Tyermaillin, is a member of the Blades, so I know it isn't him. I don't know Hecerinde's exact address, but I know he lives on the east bank of the Odai river, on the north side of town."

"Hang on," Oreotragus said. "I'm not so sure I like the idea of being a spy for the Empire. I had a good thing going before the Legion got in the way."

"A good thing?" Caius asked. "You were a pirate."

"Yes, and I probably had more money than the Emperor himself! Give me one good reason why I should be a spy for the very Empire that took all that away from me!"

As an answer, Caius tossed Varansaur and Oreotragus each a small cloth sack of gold. "Think of this as compensation for whatever insane task Sharn had you do."

Oreotragus scowl darkened. "If you think I can be bought off that easily," he peered inside the sack, "then you sir…" his eyes widened, "definitely have the measure of me!"

**X X X**

Varansaur and Oreotragus arrived at the east bank of the Odai River. They were now in the neighborhood where Caius had said they could find Hecerinde. They began looking at the houses, but none of them had any indication as to who lived in which house.

"Can I help you?" came a curt voice from behind them.

Varansaur and Oreotragus spun around to find a Dunmer man with a green robe and flat-top haircut standing behind them.

"Well, actually," Varansaur said, "we're looking for a friend of ours who we understand lives in this part of town. An Altmer, by the name of Hecerinde. Would you happen to know where he lives?"

"Oh, of course." The Dunmer pointed to one of the houses. "Although," he leaned in close and began whispering, "I think that house is being watched. There's a woman sitting in the alley next to the house. She's been there for hours. I happened to catch a glimpse of the book she's reading as I walked past, and I think it's in Sloadic. I don't keep tabs with her kind of people, but I highly doubt Marasa Aren would be able to read Sloadic."

Varansaur started. He knew the name Marasa Aren somewhere…

"Well," Oreotragus whispered back, "thanks for the tip."

"Any time," the Dunmer replied. "Name's Rararyn Radarys."

Varansaur and Oreotragus had to stifle the urge to laugh as they walked towards Hecerinde's house. (If your last name was Radarys, what could possibly possess you to name your child Rararyn?) As they approached the house, they saw that there was indeed a grey-haired Dunmer woman in black clothing sitting on a crate in the alley beside the house. She appeared to be reading a book entitled _N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis! _As they approached her, she didn't even acknowledge their presence.

"What are you up to?" Varansaur asked.

The woman didn't look up from her book. "I fail to see how that is any of your business."

"Your name wouldn't by any chance be Marasa Aren, would it?" Oreotragus asked.

"If it was, I certainly wouldn't tell you. Get lost."

Figuring that it was pointless trying to get any further answer out of the woman, Varansaur and Oreotragus walked up to Hecerinde's front door, both trying to figure out where they had heard the name Marasa Aren before. Oreotragus knocked on the door. There was no answer, although Varansaur thought he heard something move inside the house. He happened to glance over at the woman in the alley, who was very obviously looking over the top of her book at them. There was a look of utter hatred in her eyes that Varansaur found disconcertingly familiar…he had definitely seen several other Dunmer look at him like that…Orvas Dren…Thanelen Velas…Vadusa Sathryon…

"Marasa Aren!" Varansaur hissed out of the side of his mouth.

Oreotragus turned to him. "What?"

"I know where I recognize that name! She's one of Larrius Varro's 'bad people.'"

Oreotragus gave the woman a sideways glance. She had gone back to pretending to read her book. Oreotragus' mouth broke into a wide grin.

"What are you thinking?" Varansaur asked, dreading the answer.

"Isn't it obvious?" Oreotragus whispered. "She's on a spy mission. She's waiting for someone to try to make contact with Hecerinde." He chuckled under his breath. "I'm thinking we should have a little fun." With that, he cleared his throat and said loudly; "This is clearly the wrong house. I told you, he said _west _bank of the Odai River! Honestly, how can the Empire expect to eliminate the Camonna Tong with people like you in charge?"

There was a loud thud as Marasa Aren fell off of her crate.

Varansaur nearly laughed as he recognized the brilliance of Oreotragus' plan, not caring about the irony of that sentence. "You didn't complain when I killed those last four operatives. Who was it that found them, again? Oh that's right, it was me."

Marasa Aren was now hiding behind the crate, trying not to be seen.

"You had a lot of help with that," Oreotragus said. "Sathryon would probably still be alive if we hadn't been there to save your ass."

"Yeah," Varansaur said, looking around, "where is everyone else, anyway?"

"They're probably where we were _supposed _to be. Come on, we need to find those plans quickly if we want to be at Dren's plantation by sunset."

The two started walking away. They deliberately passed by Marasa Aren's hiding place. She silently drew a dagger and crept up on Oreotragus, figuring that as the smaller of the two, he'd be easier to kill. She reached around him, preparing to grab his right arm with her left hand and slit his throat with her right. She might have succeeded, had her targets not been listening intently for this very thing to happen. She suddenly felt herself swept off her feet by Varansaur's tail.

Varansaur turned around, made sure that her dagger had landed a good distance away from her, and approached the fallen woman. "My apologies, Muthsera," he said, extending a hand to help her up. "Twenty-two years, and I _still _haven't learned to control the damn thing."

"Don't touch me, s'wit!" Aren spat, scuttling backwards to her dagger.

"Someone's in a bad mood," Oreotragus said. "It's that time of the month, isn't it?"

Aren looked as though Oreotragus had called her mother a whore. Varansaur simply gave him a confused look.

"It's a mammal thing," Oreotragus said. "I'll explain later."

Aren snatched up her dagger and jumped unsteadily to her feet. "Stay away from me!" she shouted. "I know all about you and what you're up to."

"What ever do you mean?" Varansaur asked.

"Don't play stupid. I'm onto you. You won't get away with it!" With a shout, she charged headlong into Varansaur, tackling him to the ground. Varansaur quickly reached up and grabbed her wrist, stopping her dagger an inch from his face.

Oreotragus tilted his head back and shouted "Help! Guards! Assault!"

Marasa Aren turned and leapt towards Oreotragus, snarling like an animal, momentarily forgetting that Varansaur still had hold of her wrist. He jerked her arm, hard, causing her to roll over him, landing flat on her back beside him, her dagger skittering across the pavement once more. Both she and Varansaur quickly jumped to their feet, just as three guards arrived on the scene.

"What's going on here?" one of the guards asked.

Aren shot him a mad glare, too far gone to come up with a coherent lie. Varansaur simply pointed at her and said "She attacked me!"

The guard looked at Aren. "Ma'am, drop your weapon. You're under arrest."

Aren looked back at Oreotragus and Varansaur. "Oh, I see your little game now. Have your imperial friends silence me, eh?"

The guards looked at Oreotragus and Varansaur. Varansaur simply shrugged, while Oreotragus spun his finger in a circle around his ear and mouthed the word "Nuts."

"Well it's not going to work!" she screeched. "I have friends in high places, you know. I'll get out. And when I do, I'll find you. Nobody's going to keep me silenced!" She turned to the guards. "Especially not any blood-traitor Hlaalu!" She sprung into the air, dagger raised, straight towards the guard. In the same instant, the guard drew his mace in a wide, sweeping motion. The mace connected with Aren's jaw with a sickening crack. She did a complete 180 in the air and landed, face-down, on the pavement. For several seconds, she struggled to move, her breathing shallow and ragged. Then, she slowly placed her hands on the ground to her side, her right hand covered in blood, and turned herself over, revealing that upon landing, her dagger had become buried to the hilt in her abdomen. She lay on the ground for several more seconds, trying to draw breath, occasionally spitting out a mouthful of blood. Then, she slightly raised her head and grabbed the hilt of her dagger with her hand.

"No, don't-" one of the guards started, but before he could finish, Aren pulled the dagger out of her body, with a visible wince of agony. It made a nasty, slurping sound as it came out. She tried to sit up, her muscles shaking from the effort, before her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped back to the ground, dead.

"I tried to tell her," the guard said. "If she had left it there, we probably could've gotten her to a healer." The other two guards picked up the body, and the three of them left the area.

Varansaur looked at Oreotragus. "That was…"

"Fun? Exhilarating?"

"Disgusting!" Varansaur said. "That was probably the most sickening fight I've even been involved in."

"We never are going to see eye-to-eye on this whole killing thing, are we? More than anything, I'm just giddy that it worked."

"What worked?"

"My plan. Vadusa Sathryon's death had the entire Camonna Tong on edge, and all I had to do was provoke her over it."

Before the conversation could go any further, the door Oreotragus had knocked on creaked open. "Over here," a deep voice hissed.

Varansaur and Oreotragus looked around, then slowly snuck over to the door. Once inside, they saw an austere-looking Altmer man looking down at them.

"I'm impressed at the way you handled that," he said, with an air of snootiness. "My name is Hecerinde. I believe you may have been trying to contact me?"

"Yes," Varansaur said. "We're here on behalf of Sugar-Lips Habasi…"

"Ah, Habasi," Hecerinde interrupted, no longer looking at Oreotragus or Varansaur. "Such a dear friend. I did always wonder what happened to her."

"Yeah," Oreotragus said. "She said something about asking you to secure the South Wall against a Camonna Tong invasion tonight…"

"I suppose I have been negligent towards the guild lately," Hecerinde said, his voice not really indicating whether or not he had actually heard Oreotragus. "I should stop by and see what she needs of me." With that, he ushered Varansaur and Oreotragus out the door and strode in the direction of the South Wall.

"Damn," Varansaur said. "How arrogant can you get?"

At that moment, Varansaur was interrupted by a loud "Ahem!" behind him. He and Oreotragus turned to see a Dunmer man with a rather pinched-looking face standing behind them.

"Name's Fast Eddie," the Dunmer whispered, slipping Varansaur a folded piece of paper. "Caius sent me." Without another word, he disappeared down the nearest alley.

Varansaur and Oreotragus exchanged confused looks, before Varansaur unfolded the paper.

"He has a new task for us," Varansaur said in a sotto voice. "He wants us to go to Vivec city and meet up with three informants, and get everything they know about the Nerevarine Cult and/or the Sixth House."

A fierce, biting wind suddenly blew through town, nearly knocking several people off their feet.

"What is it with those guys?" Oreotragus asked. "You don't think they're related somehow, do you?"

"At this point," Varansaur said, "I wouldn't be surprised. I mean, they both deal with the ancient history of Morrowind. And didn't that Nerevar guy have the same last name as one of the five legitimate houses? Indoril, I think it was."

"Caius probably won't tell us anything," Oreotragus said, with a scathing look on his face. "Imperial bureaucratic type, that. His moon sugar addiction is probably just a cover story."

"Well then, we'd probably best head for Vivec. We probably shouldn't be in town tonight, anyway. Our options would be…Mages' Guild, siltstrider, and walking. I'm not sure which one I find least appealing."

"Well," Oreotragus said, "I think the less we have to do with the Mages' Guild right now, the better. Let the heat from the Ald'Ruhn job die down a bit."

"True," Varansaur said. "And if we walk, we're almost certain to get lost and/or eaten. But those damn siltstrider drivers…"

Oreotragus started rummaging through a nearby trash barrel.

"What are you doing?" Varansaur asked.

"Here," Oreotragus said, pulling two lumps of marshmerrow from the barrel. "Stuff these in your ears and just hum to yourself."

"I'm not putting those in my ears!" Varansaur recoiled. "They've been in the trash!"

Oreotragus folded his arms. "One, you're an Argonian. By your own admission, you grew up in a swamp. You can handle a little filth. B, the alternative would be listening to the driver describe every speck of dust between here and Vivec."

Varansaur looked at the ground for a few seconds, before snatching the marshmerrow from Oreotragus' hand and making his way towards the siltstrider.


	26. It's Not That Bad, Is It?

AN: Holy crap! I'm alive!

CHAPTER 26

Lord Vivec sat, legs crossed, suspended a foot above the floor of his temple. The temple had once been a place where his followers could come to seek his divine guidance. Now that Almalexia and Sotha Sil had given up, the temple was a place of seclusion. He had locked the door to all comers, and nobody was to speak with him except by special invitation…which he never had occasion to give. The temple was now the one place where he could meditate and maintain the Ghostfence, free from the distractions of the rest of the world.

Distractions like the golden-masked apparition that had just appeared in the temple.

"Vivec!" Dagoth Ur shouted, jovially.

"Go away…" Vivec growled, not even turning his head in Dagoth Ur's direction.

"Oh, come now. What kind of way is that to treat an old friend?"

"Why are you here?" Vivec asked.

Dagoth Ur stepped back and placed a hand to his chest. "What, I can't drop in to see someone I haven't talked to in hundreds of years?"

Vivec took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. "We both know that's not why you're here."

Dagoth Ur began walking around the ovoid room. "Yes, I suppose that's true. You do know me so well, Vivec."

Vivec closed his eyes and made a low growling sound in his throat.

"I just stopped by to tell you that an old friend of ours has returned. You remember Nerevar Indoril, don't you?"

"Don't you _dare_ speak that name in my presence," Vivec hissed.

"Aw," Dagoth Ur said, placing a non-corporeal hand on Vivec's shoulder. "Did I strike a nerve there? Does that name bring back terrible memories? Memories of betrayal, perhaps?"

Vivec still didn't look at Dagoth Ur, but he did clench his fists until his nails dug into his palms. "You're one to talk about betrayal."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But then, I don't deny it. I didn't make up some story to cast myself as a hero to the most xenophobic people in Tamriel."

Vivec gritted his teeth, and a single tear ran down his cheek. "Why are you doing this?"

Dagoth Ur smiled behind his mask. "Why? Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm trying to get to you…which, by the way, I clearly am. Don't lie to me, I know you. I can tell. Maybe I'm trying to use guilt to weaken your focus on the Ghostfence. Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you squirm."

Vivec sighed and got to his feet. He walked over to a single rune inscribed on the door frame. "I don't know how you got past my cloister, but I'll be renewing it daily from now on." With that, he placed his hand on the rune, which glowed white. The glow began to spread across the walls, floor, and ceiling of the temple.

"Same old Vivec," Dagoth Ur sneered. "When trouble comes knocking, shut it out. You can't hide from this forever, you know. Kagrenac's tools will–" and at that moment, the white glow reached Dagoth Ur's image, which flickered and vanished from the temple.

Vivec shook his head, walked back to the center of the room, and resumed his meditative pose. So it was true. Dagoth Ur was getting stronger, if had found a way to penetrate Vivec's cloister.

Vivec thought for a minute. Dagoth Ur had basically just admitted he liked making him squirm. It was possible this whole thing was a lie. Then again, if it wasn't…

If it wasn't, and Vivec ignored it, the world's only chance of defeating Dagoth Ur would likely be killed by the Ordinators, who had taken his absence as an excuse to take full control of the city. Perhaps he would have to take a personal interest in this.

While he maintained the Ghostfence.

Sometimes, being a god just sucked.


End file.
